The Distant Clue
The vial was empty, which was worse than if it had been full. "It’s just a tea bag, Maurice," Elara whispered, her voice thin as paper held up to a light. She sat by the window of our flat in Whitechapel, the gaslight hissing a low, mechanical complaint that vibrated through the floorboards. "You worry too much. It’s only the water." I did not answer. I held the porcelain cup in my hand, the...
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