The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-25 13:59:18 -

I "Did you see the ink?" Niamh asked, her voice flat against the cold draught that slipped under the door. The liquid on the intake form had climbed the page, defying gravity, a dark vein rising toward the top margin. She watched it dry, a black scar on the white paper. "It’s moving, Cillian. It’s not humidity." The strikebreaker, her own nephew, looked up from the ledger. He did not look at...

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