The Distant Temple
The tongs clamped the glowing iron, and Elias Thorne lifted it with a groan that was less a sound than a vibration in his chest. The metal was white-hot, a small sun in the gloom of the foundry, and it hummed. That was the thing about the bell at St. Jude’s; it didn’t just ring, it hummed, a low frequency that seemed to bypass his ears and settle directly into the rot of his lungs. He was...
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