The Pale Shadows
The ink on the deed would not dry. It sat there on the parchment, a wet, black pool that seemed to deepen as Elias Thorne watched, the liquid spreading in tendrils that defied the grain of the paper. He set the quill down, his hand trembling not from the cold, but from the sudden, crushing weight of the silence in the room. Across the table, Mr. Vane tapped his watch, the click sharp and final...
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