The Distant Clue

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2026-08-23 23:56:56 -

The Distant Clue

The iron key lay cold in Eamon’s palm, its teeth worn smooth by a decade of use. He held it against the damp stone of his cell, feeling the chill seep into his knuckles, a small, solid anchor in the fog of the morning. The keep was silent, save for the drip of condensation from the vaulted ceiling and the distant, rhythmic thud of the miller’s wheel turning in the valley below. Eamon was forty...

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