The Wistful Letter
Chapter One Hillechien Jansen stood at the gate of the old union hall, his hand resting on the cold iron of a car with a rebuilt title, the metal slick with the damp that always clung to the peat lands. He was thirty-four, a crossing guard by day and a palace sentinel by night, a man whose life was a series of shifts that never quite aligned. The wind off the canals was strong enough to take...
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