The Distant Temple

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2026-08-20 04:14:06 -

The brass weight sat on the counter, cold and heavy as a sleeping dog, its surface polished to a mirror that reflected the fluorescent hum of the shop. Elias Thorne did not look at it. He looked at the invoice, his pen hovering over the line item for "Excessive Wear and Tear," a phrase that had become the default language of his existence. The shop was a quiet place, a place of dust motes...

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