The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-22 02:13:35 -

The air in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Chapel smelled of damp plaster and ancient stone, a scent that seemed to settle into the lungs like dust. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the massive, stained-glass window, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of rigid discipline that felt increasingly like a cage. He was a man carved from the same grey rock as the chapel itself, his uniform...

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