The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-19 09:01:56 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended mist that clung to the stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude’s like a wet wool shroud. Elias Thorne stood in the nave, his hands trembling not from the cold, which was a dull, bone-deep ache, but from the vibration that hummed through the flagstones. He was a man of timber and glue, a joiner by trade, yet for the last three years, he had...

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