The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-23 18:32:07 -

The parchment lay on the oak table, the ink still wet and smelling of iron and gall. Thomas Bradshaw stared at the line item: *Medical fees for Agnes Bradshaw, debt to Dr. Holloway, forty silver marks.* His stomach clenched, a hollow ache that had been his constant companion for three weeks. He was a royal guard, sworn to the Crown, yet he could not afford the medicine to keep his mother’s...

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