The Distant Blade
The dream began not with a sound, but with a weight, a heavy, cold pressure against the back of Martin’s neck that felt less like a hand and more like the entire gravity of the room collapsing into a single point of contact. He was standing in the atrium of the St. Jude’s Rehabilitation Center, a place he knew by the smell of wet wool and industrial lemon cleaner, but in the dream, the atrium...
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