The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-20 14:44:54 -

The mud was black and slick, clinging to the leather of my boots with a tenacity that felt personal, as if the earth itself were trying to keep me from walking away from the body of Sir Julian Thorne. I stood over him in the narrow alley behind the apothecary, the rain still hammering the cobblestones, the air thick with the copper smell of blood and the sweet, cloying scent of the crushed...

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