The Pale Path
The paper in Elias Thorne’s hand was thin, almost translucent, and it trembled not from the wind but from the weight of the lie printed in his own handwriting. It was a letter of resignation, forged in the quiet of his cell the previous night, signed with a flourish that mimicked the authority of a man who had chosen this life rather than been condemned to it. He stood at the iron gate of St....
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