The Distant Affair
Thorne. The name was called by the rain, or perhaps by the mud that had swallowed his boots up to the ankle. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the overgrown courtyard, his coat heavy with water, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts that fogged in the gray afternoon light. He was forty-two, an archivist of folklore, a man who cataloged the dead for a living, yet he felt entirely unprepared...
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