The Wistful Silence
The investigation began not with a shout, but with the slow, grinding rotation of the millstone in the kitchen, a rhythmic thud that matched the irregularity of Silas Vane’s heart as he stood before the double doors of the Grand Hall, his hands trembling not from fear but from a strange, hollowed-out anticipation that had settled into his bones like winter frost. He was the Understeward, a man...
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