The Silent Apothecary
The fog of London did not merely drift; it clung, a damp shroud that tasted of coal smoke and forgotten sins. In a narrow alleyway of East End, where the cobblestones remained perpetually slick, Julian lived in a pharmacy that smelled of dried valerian and old parchment. He was a man of ghosts—ghosts of a medical career that had ended in a public shaming by the Royal College of Physicians. They...
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