The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-23 02:01:57 -

The glass was cold against my palm, colder than the stone floor beneath my feet. "You promised you would mend it, Elias," Silas said. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. In the dream, his face was a blur of grey fog, and the air smelled of wet wool and old paper. I woke with the taste of iron in my throat. I sat up in the narrow bed of my room above the ledger office. The wallpaper, a faded...

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