The Distant Garden

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2026-08-22 14:51:03 -

The municipal office smelled of wet wool and stale coffee, a scent that Elias Thorne had come to associate with the slow erosion of his own dignity. He sat in the chair opposite Mayor Halloway, his hands folded tightly on his knees, watching the older man’s mouth move as he delivered the accusation with the rhythmic precision of a metronome. Halloway was not shouting; he was dissecting,...

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