The Pale Verdict
The rain in Harrowgate did not wash the city clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones of the industrial district into a mirror for the soot that fell from the smokestacks of the textile mills. Inspector Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the Blackwater River, his collar turned up against the chill that had settled into his bones three days ago, a stiffness that the...
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