The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-19 10:32:48 -

The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Historical Society smelled of damp wool and roasted chestnuts, a thick, cloying aroma that clung to the back of the throat. Edward Ashworth sat at the head of a long, mahogany table, his hands folded neatly over a glass of claret that had gone warm. He was a man who spoke in the language of spectral analysis and archival integrity, yet here, in this room...

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