The Whispering Range

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2026-06-07 09:23:47 -

I. London, 1888. The fog rolled in from the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow and tasting of coal smoke and river water and things that had decayed in the dark. Captain Alistair Blackwood stood on Waterloo Bridge and watched it come, his hand in his coat pocket around a small piece of rock that glowed faintly blue in the dark. It was not a normal rock. It had fallen from the sky near...

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