The Distant Summer
The blackened loaf of bread sat in your palm, cold and heavy, its crust cracked like dry riverbeds, and you could smell the iron tang of the ash before you even opened your eyes to the grey dawn of the infirmary. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a senior inquisitor of the Order of the Silent Watch, and for the last three months, this dream has been a physical weight, a craving that...
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