The Distant Threshold
Elias Thorne’s hand shook as he poured the coffee, a fine tremor that sent a thin stream of brown liquid arcing onto the white ceramic. The mug was chipped at the rim, a flaw he had noticed three days ago but had not yet fixed. He watched the drip fall onto the linoleum, a small, dark stain spreading into the grout. It was a Tuesday. In three days, Clara would leave. The magistrate’s letter lay...
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