The Faded Road
"You have a debt to the House," said the man in the grey suit. His voice was soft, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. He did not look at me. He looked at the wall behind me, where a crack ran like a vein of light. "It is time to pay." I stood in the center of the room. The air was thick, stale, tasting of copper and old dust. I was a maker of things. Small, intricate things. Clocks...
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