The Distant Garden
Thorne. The word hangs in the air of the Ministry corridor, stripped of any warmth, a flat administrative sound that bounces off the grey stone walls and settles into the soles of your shoes. You stop walking, your hand still resting on the brass railing, the metal cold and gritty under your palm, and turn to find Director Halloway standing three paces back, his face a mask of polite concern...
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