The Distant Clue
The ice on the window is thick. It is white and brittle. You tap it with a fingernail. It cracks. A spiderweb of fractures spreads across the pane. You are in the workshop. It is cold. Your hands are steady. They have always been steady. That is what the guild requires. Steady hands for the glass. Steady eyes for the light. You are a glazier. A master of the craft. But you are also the son of...
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