The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-19 12:13:12 -

The train slows as it pulls into the station at Harrowgate, the wheels shrieking against the rusted tracks like a dying animal. You step onto the platform, your boots heavy with the mud of the countryside, and the cold air bites at your face. It is November, and the sky is a low, bruised purple, hanging over the town like a shroud. You are here to report for duty, or perhaps to say goodbye,...

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