The Pale Shadows
The summons lay on the mahogany table, its seal broken, the paper yellowed with the age of the accusation it contained. I read it twice, my thumb rubbing the rough, fibrous texture of the document until the ink blurred, a tactile confirmation that this was real, that the tribunal at dawn was not a fever dream but a scheduled execution of my career. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a...
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