The Faded Shield
The dream began not with sound, but with the weight of a hand on a shoulder, a pressure so familiar it felt like gravity itself had shifted. Dr. Julian Thorne woke in the sterile, humming quiet of his office at the University of Cambridge, the rain lashing against the leaded glass windows like a thousand tiny, insistent fingers. He was a man of books, of dusty archives and the safe, predictable...
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