The Distant Ghost
Farhad Yousefi stood before the crumbling brick facade of the old mill, the soot-choked air of 1912 hanging heavy over the Persian desert caravanserai town. The structure groaned, a low, tectonic whisper that the locals claimed was the voices of the dead, absorbed into the mortar by generations of guilt. He pressed his thumb against the rough surface, feeling the vibration travel up his arm, a...
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