The Wistful Witness
Chapter One Tigran Georgiev remembered the weight of the oak doors long after they had closed behind him, a heaviness that settled in his joints like the ice that had felled the elms in the valley. He stood now in the shadow of the crumbling keep, the stone worn smooth by centuries of hands that had held nothing but salt and silence, and he looked back at the magistrate’s study where the air...
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