The Distant Crown
The air in the bunker was thick with the smell of wet wool, stale tobacco, and the metallic tang of fear that seemed to seep from the very stones. It was the winter of 1919, a time when the war had ended in Europe but not yet in the minds of those who had served, and the town of Blackwater sat huddled under a sky that had not seen the sun in three days. Inside the reinforced concrete chamber,...
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