The Distant Threshold
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a gray curtain drawn tight against the windows of the police station. Sergeant Elias Thorne sat at his desk, the wood worn smooth by decades of elbows and bad news. On the blotter before him lay a single, yellowed envelope, its edges soft and frayed like the skin of an old man. Inside was a prescription for a sedative, dated three months...
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