The Distant Promise
Nadya Titov sat in the study at ninety-six of Marsh Hollow, the heat shimmering off the brickwork of the provincial town until the street outside blurred into a gray smear of industry and dust. The distillery watchman had just finished his rounds, his boots crunching on the gravel, and the air smelled of fermented grain and the metallic tang of the coming storm. She watched the ink bleed across...
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