The Distant Blade
The tape measure snapped against the rotting oak with a sound like a bone breaking, and Elias Thorne did not flinch. He was forty-two, his hands stained with the grease of a decade’s worth of failed repairs, and he was driving his late father’s sedan up a gravel drive that crunched under the tires with the reluctance of a man refusing to speak. The estate sat in the Hudson Valley, a sprawling...
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