The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the lower village into a slick, reflective mirror of the gray sky. Inside the manor, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool and extinguished candles. Silas stood by the hearth, his back to the room, watching the embers die. He was a large man, built like the oaks that lined the riverbank, but his movements were...
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