The Distant Threshold
The iron shackle clicks against the wet cobblestones of the courtyard, a sound that is less a noise than a vibration that travels up through the soles of your boots and settles, heavy and cold, in the marrow of your shinbone. You are not looking at the man who is bleeding out in the mud before you, nor are you looking at the two other officers who are struggling to pin his thrashing limbs to...
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