The Distant Affair
The ledger showed forty-two miles of frozen ridge, a count that Elias Thorne had spent three years trying to keep in his head without it slipping. He was thirty years old, and his knees ached with a cold that had nothing to do with the wind. He wanted the pension. He wanted to catch Kael. The boot print on the ice was fresh, the leather crushed deep into the frost, and it pointed not away from...
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