The Pale Echo
The ink on the ledger page was still wet, glistening like a bruise under the single, swinging bulb of the abandoned mill, when Silas Vane realized the air had turned to ice. He was forty-two, a detective with a reputation for instability and a pocket full of empty bills, and he wanted nothing more than to prove that his partner, Thomas Hale, had not hanged himself in a fit of despair but had...
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