The Faded Attic
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, gray veil that turned the world into a watercolor of mud and rust. Elias Thorne sat at the workbench in the back of the shop, his hands stained with the black residue of varnish and the white dust of putty. He was a man of fifty, with shoulders that had once been broad and square but now seemed to have folded inward, as if he were trying...
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