The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-22 13:53:08 -

Elias, stop that. The voice cut through the haze of my fever, sharp as a file on steel. I was on the floor of the shop, my forehead pressed against the cold oak planks, listening to the heartbeat of the room. It was the grandfather clock, the one I had built with my own hands in 1889, that was keeping time. But it was not ticking forward. It was ticking backward. Tick, tock, tick, tock, a...

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