The Wistful Mirror
The scaffolding was already groaning when Harker walked onto the platform, his boots crunching on the loose gravel and broken limestone chips that covered the walkway. “Elias, look at this joint. It’s open an inch. You drank the night shift, didn’t you? I can smell the ale on you.” The wind howled through the gaps in the timber, a cold, thin sound that cut straight through the wool of Elias’s...
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