The Distant Threshold
The report lay on the desk, a sheaf of paper brittle with dust and the sweat of Arthur Penhaligon’s palms, while the air in the overseer’s office grew thick with the silence of a held breath. Arthur stood by the door, his fingers twisting the heavy woolen scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, a gift from the mill’s collective that now felt less like a token of warmth and more like a noose...
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