The Distant Threshold
Chapter One Sinead Mulcahy had not slept in three days, and the salt of the shore clung to her boots like wet ash. She stood on the platform at Kilmara, the fog so thick it swallowed the tracks before they reached the buffer stop. In her hands, the leather-bound ledger hummed, a low vibration that traveled up her wrists and settled in her teeth. It was heavy, heavier than the three pounds of...
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