The Distant Garden

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2026-08-26 22:47:39 -

Giuseppe Orsini had spent the last three hours trying to remember the specific weight of his own silence before the ink dried, a task that felt less like recollection and more like excavating a body from frozen mud. He sat in the holding cell, the concrete floor cold against his knees, and listened to the ventilation system hum its low, monotonous note, a sound that had begun to replace his...

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