The Wistful Letter
The letter lay in Elias Thorne’s palm, its edges soft and frayed from years of handling. The ink was brown, faded by time and sweat, the script of Silas Vane’s dead brother, Silas, who had taught Elias how to hold a baton and how to keep a secret. The paper was thin as onion skin at the folds, ready to tear. Outside the window of the small, damp office, the city of Oakhaven hummed with the low,...
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