The Distant Wound
The iron gate of the Penitentiary of Saint Jude was not merely a barrier of metal and stone but a membrane between the known world of hunger and the unknowable silence that waited beyond, a threshold that Cillian had crossed so many times in the dark of his cell that the rusted hinges had worn grooves into his memory as deeply as the scratches on the iron bars themselves. He stood now in the...
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