The Distant Temple

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2026-08-25 19:26:22 -

The silver was cold, colder than the air in the customs shed. Anders Isdahl held the brooch up to the light, his thumb pressing against the clasp. It had been his wife’s, Sigrid, until the fever took her three winters ago. He had kept it in the drawer of his desk at the station, the one marked with the red wax seal of the estate. Now, the metal was warping, the filigree twisting into shapes...

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