The Distant Threshold
Do you know what it feels like to hold a key that has been filed down? Greer Balfour stood at the tailgate of his rusted Land Rover, the salt of the Skye shore biting into the raw skin of his knuckles, and watched the rain blur the outline of the township below. He was a man of forty-two, though the pension fund raid had aged him another decade in a single afternoon, leaving him with the hollow...
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