The Distant Summer

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2026-08-20 08:02:54 -

The rain had not stopped in three days. It drummed against the slate roof of the watchtower, a relentless, hollow rhythm that seemed to hollow out the bones of the man who climbed it. Thomas Bradshaw kept his face set in stone. He did not look at the village below. He did not look at the mud that caked his boots, black and slick, smelling of rot and wet earth. He looked only at the gate. The...

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