The Distant Threshold
The rain in the valley of Ashford does not fall; it settles, a grey and heavy mist that clings to the stone walls of the town like a second skin. You know this because you have lived here for twenty years, serving as the Chief Constable of a community that sleeps so deeply it often forgets it is awake. The building you inhabit is the old watchtower, a square structure of local granite that...
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