The Wistful Throne
The letter lay on the desk, its seal broken, the ink smudged where Elias Thorne’s thumb had pressed too hard. It was a summons, or perhaps a warning, though the language was bureaucratic enough to hide the intent. "The Office of Inquisition requests your presence at the Thorne Estate for the cataloging of the late Silas Vane’s personal effects." Elias read it twice. He was a scholar, not a spy,...
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