The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-20 16:10:17 -

The rain had been falling on the ironwork of the Blackwood Asylum for three days, a relentless, rhythmic tapping that sounded less like water and more like the ticking of a massive, rusted clock. Inside the administrative wing, which smelled of damp wool and boiled linseed oil, Elias Thorne sat hunched over a desk that was far too large for his frail frame. He was a man of forty years, though...

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