The Distant Threshold
Chapter One Malcolm Toshach, forty-two, held a brass key to a sub-basement that hummed in the teeth, a vibration so low it felt less like sound and more like the grinding of a millstone beneath the floorboards of his life. He was a senior archivist in the municipal records office on the Isle of Skye, a crumbling institution perched on the edge of a cliff where the wind stripped the paint from...
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