The Pale Shadows
The voice that cut through the sawdust haze was not angry, but it was sharp enough to slice the silence. "Elias." It was Sam, standing by the doorframe, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his denim jacket, looking at the cabinet with the detached curiosity of a coroner. "That piece is dead wood, Elias. It’s just... dead." The words hung in the air, heavier than the shavings on the floor....
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