The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-23 12:38:45 -

The train smelled of wet wool and diesel, a scent that clung to the fibers of my coat as I stepped onto the platform of the city. I was Elias Thorne, forty-two, a man who had spent the last three years fixing things that no longer ticked, and I had come here to fix the one thing that refused to stop. The Great Hall stood at the end of the avenue, a monolith of grey stone that seemed to absorb...

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