The Distant Ghost

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2026-08-23 22:32:06 -

The Distant Ghost

The rusted gate of the Oakhaven mill groaned against the winter wind, a sound like a man clearing his throat before a lie. I stood before it, my breath pluming in the pale November light, my hands white-knuckled around the iron bars. The order was simple, stamped in red ink on the parchment in my breast pocket: secure the boundary line before the freeze. It was a directive from the High...

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