The Distant Affair
The dream did not arrive as a whisper, but as a heavy, wet silence that pressed against the inside of Elias Thorne’s skull, a silence that smelled of ozone and crushed lavender, a silence that was not empty but full of a waiting so profound it felt like a physical weight settling into his marrow. He stood in a room that was not a room, a vast, circular hall where the floor was made of polished...
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