The Distant Wound

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2026-08-26 03:55:27 -

The Distant Wound

The summons came not as a shout but as a knock, sharp and rhythmic, against the oak door of Arthur Vane’s office. Arthur did not look up from the stack of pamphlets before him. He was thirty years old, though the grey at his temples suggested a man who had seen more winters than that. The room smelled of dust, cold tea, and the sharp, chemical tang of the ink used in the Bureau’s printing...

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