The Ancestral Lie
The humidity of the Georgia coast didn't just hang in the air; it felt like a physical weight, a damp blanket that smelled of salt, rot, and a hundred years of secrets. Silas returned to the Blackwood estate not as a conqueror, but as a ghost. He was the last of a dying line, a man who had spent his adulthood in the sterile corridors of a London law firm, far away from the soil that had birthed...
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