The Distant Garden

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2026-08-24 07:28:56 -

The first thing you notice is the smell of wet wool and stale tobacco, the heavy, cloying scent that clings to the walls of the station house on Alder Street, a place where the air feels thick enough to chew. Harriet Merriweather sits at the wooden desk, her hands resting on a manila folder, the paper’s surface cool and dry against her skin, though the ink bleeding through her palms makes the...

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