The Distant Wound
The soot in Oakhaven did not merely settle; it invaded, a persistent, oily film that coated the lungs and the conscience alike, and Elias Thorne, the town’s junior archivist, found himself wrestling with a ledger that seemed to bleed ink into the very wood of the desk. He was thirty-two years old, a man who had spent a decade scrubbing his family’s name from the local memory, convinced that his...
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