The Faded Quadrant
The iron gauge on the wall ticked with a rhythmic, mechanical insistence, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Thomas Whitmore’s bones, a low-frequency hum that had long since ceased to be merely auditory and had become a physical pressure, a weight against his sternum that made it difficult to breathe without effort. He stood in the center of the manor’s great hall, the air thick...
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