The Pale Fracture
The hammer struck the anvil with a rhythm that had become indistinguishable from the beating of his own heart, a dull, rhythmic thud that vibrated through the sole of Thomas Bradshaw’s boot and up into the marrow of his shin. The forge was a small, rectangular box of brick and soot, sealed against the howling winter wind that battered the outside world, a world that had turned its back on the...
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