The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-20 08:15:02 -

The bell rang. It was a low, bronze hum that vibrated in the teeth of every scholar in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s. Thomas Whitmore stood by the window. The glass was thick. It smelled of dust and old paper. "You’re late," said Marcus. Marcus did not look at him. He looked at the mortar. It was a gray paste. It sat in a brass bowl. Thomas looked at his hands. They were clean. They were always...

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