The Distant Threshold
The fluorescent lights in the basement archives of the St. Jude’s Ministry did not hum; they buzzed, a low, persistent vibration that seemed to settle in the marrow of the bones. I sat at my desk, a rectangular island of laminate in a sea of steel shelving, and watched my hands. They were trembling. It was not a cold tremble, nor a fever one. It was the vibration of the air itself, the same...
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