The Distant Summer
"You're sure it wasn't a rat?" Elias Thorne stared at the empty pantry shelf, the wood grain worn smooth by decades of dust and flour, and felt the familiar, cold weight of the dream settle in his stomach. He had woken an hour ago, the taste of black, dense bread dissolving on his tongue, a flavor so heavy and ancient it felt less like food and more like a verdict. It was the third time this...
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