The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-20 05:29:34 -

The air in the workshop smelled of wet wool and old varnish, a scent that had settled into the very grain of the pine floors. Elias Thorne sat in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and stared at the window. Outside, the fog in Harrowgate was not merely weather; it was a presence, a thick, white miasma that pressed against the glass like a living thing trying to get in. He had...

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