The Distant Legend
The envelope was heavy, a physical weight that felt less like paper and more like wet clay, sitting on the kitchen table where the morning light hit the dust motes. I had been counting the hours since I last saw Julian, twenty-six hours and four minutes, a tally kept not in a notebook but in the rigid ache of my own knuckles, which I flexed and unflexed until the skin pulled tight and white....
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