The Faded Masquerade
The letter sits in the ink, the nib scratching a rhythm that matches the tremor in your hands, as you try to convince the silence in this cramped office that you are still a man of the law, still a brother who can fix what has been broken by the distance between Oakhaven and the Balkans. You are Elias Thorne, constable, thirty-four years old, and you are writing to Silas, who is not in the...
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