The Distant Clue
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the Lower Ward into a slick, reflective mirror that caught the dim gaslight of the Guild’s tower. You stood in the center of the interrogation room, the air thick with the smell of damp wool and old paper, while Magistrate Vane circled you with the slow, predatory grace of a man who had already decided your fate. He stopped a...
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