The Distant Whispers
The mill burned before the sun was up. Smoke poured from the chimney like black water. Thick. Heavy. It swallowed the sky. It swallowed the street. It swallowed the names of the men who worked there. Thomas Ashworth stood on the bridge. He watched the fire. He did not run. He was a constable. He waited for orders. But the orders did not come. The town was silent. The silence was worse than the...
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