The Distant Blade

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2026-08-18 12:40:56 -

The Distant Blade

The ink on the ledger was still wet when I first saw the mark. It was a small, jagged crescent, etched into the wood of the heavy oak desk in the War Office’s administrative wing. I had been staring at it for three minutes, my stylus frozen in mid-air, the smell of iron-gall ink sharp and metallic in my nose. I am Thomas Bradshaw, a man who has spent twenty years in the grey wool of the Home...

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