The Distant Threshold
The departure was not a choice but an eviction, a quiet expropriation of space. Elias Vane stood by the open doorway of the small, damp flat in Bristol, watching his wife, Clara, pack the last of their shared history into a canvas bag. He held a surveyor’s theodolite in one hand, its brass lenses catching the grey afternoon light, and felt the instrument’s weight as a physical anchor to a...
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