The Wistful Silence
The stone is bleeding again," Silas said, his voice low and tight, holding the chisel at a distance as if the tool itself were a live wire. Elias Thorne did not look up immediately. He was hunched over the workbench, the smell of iron filings and stale coffee thick in the air, the weight of the deadline pressing against his temples like a physical blow. It was a Tuesday, the kind of gray,...
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