The Faded Sutra
The door to the granary was barred from the inside, and Thomas Bradshaw did not knock. He did not call out for the steward, nor did he wait for a reply that would not come. The sound of his shoulder striking the oak was a dull, wet thud that echoed in the cold air of the keep, a sound that seemed to swallow the silence of the courtyard. He struck again, and the wood splintered with a sharp...
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