The Distant Threshold
You are tired. Not the sleepless kind. The deep, marrow kind. The kind that settles into the joints of the knee and the hinge of the jaw. You are a scholar of history. You have spent thirty years tracing the bloodlines of the Ashworths. You know their feuds. You know their truces. You know the weight of the iron rings on their doors. You stand in the library of the North Tower. The air is cold....
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