The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-19 07:59:28 -

"You’re holding it wrong again," Thomas said. His voice was low, rasping like dry leaves skittering over gravel. He stood by the window, his back to me, watching the rain streak the glass of the patrol car. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of wet wool and the faint, metallic tang of the old revolver I kept in my lap. It was a heavy thing, a Smith & Wesson Model 10, its blue finish...

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