The Distant Clue
The mortar and pestle ground against each other, a rhythmic, wet scraping that echoed in the hollow of Elias Thorne’s skull, louder than the rain lashing the checkpoint’s tin roof, louder than the diesel cough of the generator, a sound that had been grinding in his head for three days straight and would not stop no matter how much he chewed on the antacid tablets Sarah had slipped him in the...
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