The Distant Ghost
The soup was thick, a brown, viscous sludge that smelled of boiled roots and old iron, and it sat in the center of the table like a wound that refused to close, surrounded by the hollow faces of the men who had gathered in the basement of the abandoned textile mill, where the air hung heavy with the scent of damp wool and the unwashed bodies of those who had nowhere else to go. They did not...
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