The Wistful Witness
The clock on the dashboard ticked four hours past the deadline. Elias Thorne watched the wipers sweep the windshield, a mechanical, rhythmic failure against the grey downpour. He was forty-two, a sergeant with a badge that felt heavier than the law it represented. The road to Blackwood Manor was not on the patrol route, a detour that required a specific permission slip he had forged himself. He...
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