The Distant Crown
The sound of the blade against the whetstone was a rhythmic, wet hiss, like a secret being drawn out of the wood. "You’re pressing too hard, Elias," said Julian, not looking up from his phone. The screen’s blue glow reflected in his dark glasses, a cold, artificial twin to the steel under Elias’s thumb. "You’re rounding the edge. You know the protocol. Feather-light. Let the abrasive do the...
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