The Distant Garden

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2026-08-19 05:59:16 -

The rain fell on the tin roof of the barracks like a thousand small, angry fingers. Silas Vance did not look up. He wiped his rifle with a rag that had long since lost its whiteness. The wood was warm under his palms. The metal was cold. He was a soldier. He had been a soldier for forty years. He was also a man. He had been a man for eighty. The distinction was becoming blurred. He sat in the...

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