The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-20 16:22:51 -

The train smelled of coal dust and wet wool. It was a heavy, metallic scent that coated the back of my throat as I watched the English countryside blur past the glass. I was a magistrate’s clerk, a man of records and stamps, but the winter had turned me into something else. Something that watched. Something that waited. I had traveled three hundred miles to a place called Blackwood, a town that...

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