The Faded Paradox
The chalk line on the floor of the magistrate’s office was not straight, but Elias Thorne did not care for its geometry; he cared only for the fact that it stopped abruptly at the threshold of the door, leaving a gap wide enough for a man to walk through without stepping on the dust. He stood in the center of the room, his hands resting on the back of the oak chair, the wood slick with the...
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