The Pale Path
Chapter One It was only later that Cormac Mulcahy understood the weight of the silence, a silence so heavy it felt like snow packed into the seams of his coat. He had walked into the estate at sixty-three of the Ferry Slip, the air already heavy with liniment and old iron, his lungs burning with a cough that tasted of rust. He was there for the silver clasp. He needed it to stop the bleeding in...
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