The Distant Wound

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2026-08-17 22:25:51 -

The Distant Wound

The banquet hall smelled of ozone and stale meat. It was a cathedral of iron and glass, perched on the edge of a chasm that did not exist in any map of the known world, yet here it stood, humming with the low, tectonic vibration of a machine that had been running for a century. Thomas Ashworth sat at the head of the long, scarred table, his uniform pressed and crisp, the brass buttons...

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