The Wistful Incense
The invoice lay on the workbench, its edges curling slightly from the damp air of the shop. It was a simple list of numbers, but the total at the bottom looked like a verdict. Elias wiped his hands on his apron, leaving a smear of soot and grease across the rough wool. The paper was dry, but the floor was not. Water had been seeping through the ceiling tiles for an hour, a slow, steady bleed...
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