The Pale Path
The office smelled of wet wool and coal dust. Elias Thorne stood before the desk, his knuckles swollen, white with the effort of holding his own hands still. The rain lashed against the single pane of glass, blurring the view of the Northern Railway yard into a gray smear. "Release him," Thorne said. His voice was low, scraped raw by the damp air. Chief Miller looked up from his ledger. He was...
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