The Distant Clue
The smell of burnt paper is a specific kind of silence, a dry, acrid hush that settles into the lungs and refuses to leave, and you know it well because it is the scent of your own destruction being prepared by the hand of the man who once called you friend. It is the year of our Lord 1342, and the winter has not yet broken its hold on Oakhaven, the wind howling through the narrow gaps in the...
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