The Distant Clue
The cold did not merely settle into the bones of the old textile mill on Sorrow Creek; it inhabited the very mortar of the walls, a pervasive, icy sentinels that watched over the rusted looms and the silent spindles where the ghosts of industry still whispered their monotonous, mechanical lullabies to the damp, rotting floorboards. I stood in the center of that vast, cavernous silence, the air...
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