The Faded Guest
The glass vial trembled in Elias Thorne’s hand, the amber liquid inside swirling like a trapped wasp as he attempted to stopper it. His fingers, stained with tincture and old ink, were clumsy with the cold, a cold that had settled into the bones of the dispensary long before the November wind began to whistle through the cracks in the window frame. Across the counter, Silas watched him, his...
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