The Distant Ghost
The air in the sub-basement of the Manchester General Hospital smelled of wet wool, stale coffee, and the metallic tang of old blood, a thick, cloying atmosphere that seemed to press against William Thorne’s eardrums like a physical weight, forcing him to breathe in shallow, controlled sips of the stagnant air as he stood before the single, unadorned steel door at the end of the corridor, his...
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