The Distant Blade
Thorne. The name was not spoken with affection, nor even with the mild irritation one might reserve for a late rent payment, but with the flat, declarative weight of a diagnosis. Marcus stood in the doorway of the St. Jude’s Community Center, his silhouette framed by the sickly yellow glow of the hallway lamp, while Elias Thorne stood in the alley behind the building, the rain slicking the...
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