The Pale Verdict
The iron key hangs heavy on your neck, a cold weight against the hollow of your throat, and you can feel the pulse of your heart hammering against the metal as if it were trying to break out. It is November in Blackwood, 1893, and the mist from the river has climbed the hills, wrapping the town in a grey shroud that smells of wet slate and rot. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, and...
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