The Distant Clue
The candle flame trembled, casting long, jagged shadows against the vaulted ceiling of the archive. Elias Thorne did not look up. His quill scratched against parchment, a rhythmic, violent sound in the heavy silence. He was writing the proof. The Pope was a heretic. The words were simple, sharp, and lethal. They were the only truth that mattered. "Master," a small voice said from the doorway....
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews