The Distant Threshold
Chapter One Did you hear it, or did you make it up to keep from screaming? I stood in the workshop loft, the air heavy with brine and old paper, listening to the hum that rose from the floorboards. It was not a sound, exactly, but a pressure against the eardrums, a low-frequency thrum that vibrated in the fillings of my teeth. I am Baptiste Thibault, forty-two years old, a driver on the final...
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