The Distant Threshold

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2026-08-23 23:47:08 -

The clock on the mantelpiece had stopped at three-fourteen, its hands frozen in a posture of sudden, violent arrest. You counted the seconds in your head, a habit born of twenty years of shift work, where time was not a river but a ledger of hours owed and hours taken. The air in the hallway of Blackwood Manor tasted of damp wool and old varnish, a scent that clung to the back of your throat...

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