The Distant Nightmare
The dream arrived not as a whisper but as a screech of tearing metal, a vibration that rattled the very marrow of my bones and woke me in the damp cold of the barracks at Harrowgate, a town of soot-stained brick and perpetual fog where the river ran thick with the runoff of a century’s industry. I was not merely a man in bed; I was a sensor, a receiver tuned to a frequency that should not have...
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