The Distant Garden

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2026-08-24 01:52:14 -

Vane. The name was dragged through the mud of the hallway like a heavy sack of grain, spoken by the constable standing at the threshold. Arthur Vane felt the word land on his chest, a physical weight, pressing his ribs inward. He was thirty-four, though the split skin across his knuckles made him look older, worn down by the friction of a life lived too close to the edge. The air in the Vane...

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