The Faded Portrait
The rain lashed the courtyard of Blackwood Penitentiary, turning the gravel into a slurry that sucked at the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots. He gripped the hilt of his service pistol, the metal cold and slick against his palm, his knuckles white with the effort of keeping the weapon steady. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and old blood, a supernatural heaviness that pressed...
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