The Pale Shadows
The rain against the carriage window was a rhythmic, gray drumming that matched the slow, pulsing throb of the jar in Elias Thorne’s lap. He sat in the corner of the hired hackney, his uniform pressed and starched, his spine rigid against the jolting of the cobblestones as they carried him toward the Blackwood Asylum, a sprawling complex of iron and stone that loomed on the horizon like a tomb....
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