The Distant Threshold
The rain hammered against the soot-stained glass of the window, a relentless, rhythmic percussion that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of your bones, while inside the cramped, airless study of the Whitmore Institute, the air hung heavy with the scent of ozone, decaying paper, and the metallic tang of a fever that had settled into your lungs three weeks prior, turning every breath into...
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