The Distant Ghost
The fire ate the roof of the Vane shop in minutes. Elias stood in the street, the soot black against his pale face, holding his father’s pocket watch in his right hand. It was a fine piece of work, gold-cased, but the crystal was cracked and the hands had stopped at four. The militia’s boots crunched on the cobblestones, a rhythmic, terrible sound that echoed off the burning brick. Elias wanted...
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