The Distant Blade

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2026-08-18 09:11:40 -

The Distant Blade

The fog in Harrowgate did not roll in; it breathed. It was a living, wet exhalation that rose from the blackened belly of the river, seeping into the cobblestones, the brickwork of the tenements, and the very pores of the skin. I stood at the window of my small, stifling room above the chandler’s shop, watching the gray mist obscure the streetlamps until they were merely halos of sickly yellow...

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