The Distant Threshold
The scale ticked. One, two, three. Arthur Vane counted the seconds of the silence in the bakery, a dry, rhythmic clicking that seemed to come from the flour sacks stacked in the corner. He was thirty-four years old, and for the first time in his life, the weight of his own body felt like a burden he could not set down. Three weeks. That was how long Thomas had been gone. Three weeks since the...
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