The Pale Tower
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, grey deluge that turned the courtyard of the Pale Tower into a slick, muddy basin where the runoff from the eaves pooled in dark, oily puddles. Elias Thorne stood beneath the overhang of the porch, counting the drops that struck the flagstones at his feet, a rhythmic, maddening percussion that seemed to count down the hours until the creditors...
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