The Distant Clue
The date is the fourteenth of November, in the Year of the Grey Silence. I write this by the light of a tallow candle that sputters and dies, leaving me in a darkness so thick it feels like wool against the skin. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I have been a Royal Constable for twenty years. My name is clean. My hands are clean. Yet here I sit, in the stone belly of the keep,...
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