The Distant Clue
The rain in Blackwood did not fall so much as it hung, a grey, suffocating curtain that turned the asylum’s iron gates into a blur of rust and shadow, and Sergeant Elias Thorne stood beneath it, his boots sinking into the mud, staring at the ledger in his hand with the cold, detached precision of a man who had spent twelve years mapping the topography of war and now found himself mapping the...
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