The Faded Paradox
The scratch on the oak door was fresh, the wood fibers pale and raw against the dark, seasoned grain. Elias Thorne touched it with a finger that trembled, not from cold, but from the sudden, sharp awareness of his own failing body. He was forty, a constable in the service of Lord Ashworth for twenty years, and his knees no longer held the damp chill of the precinct stone. The city of Oakhaven...
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