The Faded Chronicle
The stagecoach wheels groaned against the mud as Elias Thorne tightened the leather straps of his saddlebag, the damp wool of his coat pressing cold and heavy against his spine. He was forty years old, a sergeant by rank but a ghost by reputation, and he needed to be in London by the time the sun cleared the eastern ridge to clear his name of the desertion charge that had hung over him since...
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