The Wistful Saga
The rain in the alley behind the Grand Hotel did not wash the blood from Elias Thorne’s knuckles; it merely turned the pavement into a slick, black mirror that reflected his own fractured face. He was thirty-four years old, a private investigator by trade and a loose tooth in the city’s jaw by necessity, and he was currently holding off two men who had been hired to break his spirit before the...
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