The Distant Blade
The rain lashed against the windowpane of the cottage in the Hollow, a relentless drumming that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and into Elias’s bones. He stood before the wardrobe, his hands trembling as he packed the leather satchel, the clasp clicking shut with a finality that felt like a gunshot. Elias Thorne was fifty-two, a man whose face was mapped with the deep lines of a life...
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