The Distant Clue

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2026-08-17 19:24:54 -

The Distant Clue

The iron pot sat in the center of the round table, a black eye staring up into the dim light of the watchtower. It was filled with a thick, dark stew that had been simmering for three days. The smell was not of food, but of rust and old blood, a pungent scent that clung to the back of the throat and refused to leave. Thomas Bradshaw stood by the window, his back rigid, his hands locked behind...

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