The Distant Ghost
The clock in the study had stopped at three. It had stopped before the letter arrived, before the men in grey coats came to the door, before the world shifted on its axis. Elias Thorne noticed it only now, a silent sentinel in the corner of the room where dust motes danced in the pale afternoon light. He sat at his desk, a leather-bound book open before him, its pages filled with his own...
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