The Wistful Throne
The brass casing of the pocket watch was warm, too warm for a metal object that had sat in a damp pocket for six hours, and the glass face was spiderwebbed with a single, jagged crack that ran from the nine to the three. Elias Thorne held it in his left hand, his fingers stiff with the cold that seeped through the wool of his gloves, while the right hand clutched a sheaf of yellowed documents...
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