The Wistful Silence
The iron wheels of the mine elevator shuddered against the rusted rails, a sound like the grinding of bones in a deep, dark throat. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the cage, his hands white-knuckled on the cold metal bars, feeling the vibration travel up through his palms and into the marrow of his wrists. The air down here in the Blackwood Colliery did not smell of coal dust, though it...
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