The Distant Threshold
The van sat in the yard like a sleeping beast, its chrome bumper dull with the dust of a journey that had never quite begun, and Elias Thorne stood by the driver’s side door, holding the keys in a hand that trembled not from the cold, though the air was sharp enough to cut, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that had settled over the property since his sister, Martha, had walked...
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