The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-18 12:17:25 -

The train shrieked into the station at Blackwood Hall, a jagged tear in the evening mist that sounded less like steel on steel and more like the grinding of bones in a wet field. Thomas Bradshaw stood on the platform, his hands white-knuckled around the handle of a leather satchel that smelled of antiseptic and burnt sugar, watching the steam coil and dissipate into the grey air as if the...

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