The Pale Shadows
The stone was wrong, Silas said, his voice a dry rasp that seemed to scrape against the wet air of the scaffolding. It felt like wet clay, Elias thought, but it was granite, and the sensation of its cold, gritty surface sliding through his fingers was the first thing he noticed before the pain started in his knuckles. He gripped the chisel tighter, the steel biting into his palm, and struck the...
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