The Distant Wound
The paper was thin, brittle as dried leaf, and smelled of wet wool and old iron. Elias Thorne held it under the harsh glare of the archive lamp, his fingers trembling not from cold, but from the tremor that had begun in his right hand three weeks ago. The document was a final report, signed by Captain Julian Halloway, a man dead for twenty years. The ink had faded to a ghostly brown, but the...
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