The Distant Whispers
The fire did not start with a spark, but with a silence so profound it seemed to swallow the very air in the library of the old Whitmore estate. It was a quiet that had no smell of smoke, no heat to feel, and yet it consumed everything with a terrible, patient hunger. Arthur Penhaligon, a man whose life had been measured in the rigid metrics of academic tenure and the quiet accumulation of...
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