The Pale Shadows
You are mistaken, Professor. The rain had turned the road into a slurry of brown clay, and the wind off the moor tore at the hem of Elias Thorne’s coat with a persistence that felt personal. He clutched the leather satchel to his chest, the impact of his heartbeat thudding against the spine of the bound manuscript within. It was a small thing, the satchel, but it felt heavier than the iron gate...
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