The Distant Legend
The black ink pen sat heavy in your palm, its lacquer cracked near the nib, a small fissure that wept a dark, viscous bead onto the white cuff of your shirt. You held it there, staring at the stain blooming like a bruise on the fabric, while the rain outside the office window of Halloway & Associates drummed a relentless, iron-scented rhythm against the glass. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two,...
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