The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-24 05:27:12 -

The leather was wet, a heavy, cold thing that Elias Thorne pressed against the sole of a child’s boot with the steady, rhythmic thud of a hammer that had no mercy for time. He did not look up as the door swung open, letting in a gust of mist so thick it seemed to have weight, pressing against his chest like a damp wool blanket. Julian stood in the doorway, his young face pale, his eyes wide...

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