The Distant Ghost
Act I The docks at Portree moved with the heavy, rhythmic thud of crates being hauled from the fishing trawlers, a mechanical pulse that drove the morning’s commerce long before the sun cleared the ridge. The air smelled of brine and diesel, a sharp, industrial tang that cut through the lingering damp of the previous night’s rain. Fiona Toshach stood at the edge of the quay, her hands buried...
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