The Distant Threshold
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, its envelope soft and worn from a journey that had taken only three days by air but felt like centuries in the mind of its recipient. Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed chair of his study, a room that smelled of dried lavender and the slow decay of old paper. He did not open it immediately. Instead, he held it between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the...
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