The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-24 16:38:40 -

Act I Ronan Tuohey hauled the rusted iron key through the rain-slicked cobbles of the alley, his fingers white-knuckled around the cold metal, the weight of it dragging against the palsy that had settled into his knuckles like wet sand. He was forty-two, and his hands shook with a tremor he had spent a decade denying, a rhythmic stutter that matched the drumming of the midsummer rain, which...

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