The Distant Threshold
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the village of Oakhaven until the world seemed to exist only in the wet, shivering dark. I stood at the gate of the Old Mill, my hands slick with mud and the cold sweat of a man who knows he is being watched, though no one was there to see. The mill wheel groaned above me, a low, rhythmic moan that...
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