The Pale Tower
The rain in Varenna did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain that turned the cobblestones into mirrors of slate and shadow. Elias Thorne stood beneath the awning of a shuttered chandler’s shop, his breath pluming in the cold air, his fingers wrapped tight around the leather pouch at his waist. Inside lay the silver clasp, stolen from the estate of the late Lady Elara, a piece of jewelry...
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