The Distant Blade
The counter in the back room of Thorne’s Apothecary held fourteen bottles of black root extract, each one labeled in ink that had faded to the color of dried blood, and Elias stood with his thumb pressing the glass of the third one, counting the seconds between the tick of the old wall clock and the thud of his own heart, which was beating too fast for a man who was only supposed to be checking...
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