The Pale Echo
The cold in the dungeon was not a temperature; it was a presence. It pressed against my ribs, a silent, pale hand that did not let go. I am Silas Vane, forty-two years old, and until three days ago, I was a Royal Constable of the High Court. Now I am a prisoner in my own justice, stripped of my badge, my rank, and my son. Elian stands accused of murdering Lord Ashworth, the Duke of the North. I...
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