The Distant Threshold
"You look like a ghost, Thomas." The words hung in the air, cold and sharp, cutting through the stale smell of coal smoke and wet wool that permeated the office. I did not look up. My hands were busy, sorting the ledgers, my fingers trembling slightly as they aligned the brittle paper edges. I was a creature of habit, of silence, of the quiet corners where no one dared to look too closely. But...
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