The Pale Path
Thorne. The word hung in the damp air of the archive, a sharp, brittle thing that cut through the silence of the blackwood shelves. Elias did not look up immediately; he was adjusting the binding of a water-stained ledger, his fingers numb from the cold that seeped up through the stone floor of the basement. He waited until the footsteps had receded up the spiral stair, the heavy oak door...
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