The Distant Threshold
The ironwood ferns do not rustle. They hum. You know this because you have spent the last three months cataloging their acoustic signature in the damp dark of the Blackwood Asylum basement. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a senior inspector with a promotion due in a week. The Board wants a clear classification for the anomalous flora. You want the title of Chief Inspector. You want to prove...
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