The Distant Blade
The key is in the lock, Elias. You turn it, and the metal does not move, it sticks, a dry, gritty friction that screams in the silence of the hallway, and you stand there with your hand wrapped around the brass, feeling the heat of your own pulse in the wrist, knowing that the house is not letting you in, it is letting you stay. You are forty-two years old, and you have been standing in this...
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