The Distant Cartograph
The rain in London did not fall so much as it hung, a grey, suspended mist that soaked into the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat and settled in the joints of his knees. He stood on the wet cobblestones of Clerkenwell, the city’s pulse thrumming beneath the soles of his boots, a low-frequency vibration that had grown louder with each passing week. Elias was thirty-two years old, a senior cartographer...
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