The Distant Joke

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2026-08-23 11:32:14 -

The Distant Joke

The chisel bit into the limestone, and a vein of black sludge oozed from the crack, thick as tar and cold as a winter grave. Elias Thorne wiped the substance from his cheek with the back of a calloused hand, leaving a smear that dried into a jagged, dark scar. He was forty-five, a master mason with twenty years of service under his belt, and he had a contract to restore the facade of St. Jude’s...

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