The Distant Blade
The cold had teeth. It bit through the wool of my coat and settled in the marrow of my bones, a damp, grey ache that no fire could fully banish. I sat on the edge of my cot in the cramped cabin of the *Ironclad*, the steamship cutting a white furrow through the dark, churning waters of the North Atlantic. Outside, the wind screamed. Inside, the only sound was the rhythmic, heavy thud of the...
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