The Distant Metropolis
The mud on the road to Harrowgate was the color of dried blood, and it clung to Elias Thorne’s boots with a tenacity that mirrored his own stubbornness. He stood before the iron gate of Vane Manor, the deed to the property clutched in a hand that trembled not from the cold, but from the weight of the debt he carried. Elias was a cartographer, a man who lived by the certainty of lines and the...
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