The Faded Bouquet
Thorne. The name was not spoken aloud, but it landed in Elias Thorne’s chest with the weight of a physical blow, a summons he had been expecting for three weeks. He stood in the rain-slicked yard of the Blackwood estate, the mud sucking at his boots with a wet, reluctant sound. In his hand, he clutched the bouquet. It was a wretched thing, a dozen black roses that should have been dead by...
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