The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-19 22:30:27 -

The ink had not yet dried on the warrant when the rain began to fall, a cold and relentless sheet that drummed against the leaded glass of the Inquisitor’s office. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the heavy oak desk, his hands resting on the polished surface, feeling the chill of the wood seep through the leather of his gloves. He was a man of few words and many scars, both visible and invisible,...

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