The Distant Temple
The furnace weighs three tons, and it is the only thing in Oakhaven that does not lie to you about the heat. You count the hours like coins, flipping them over in your mind to check for wear. Sixteen hours at the bench. Twenty-two degrees Celsius for the gather. Thirty for the anneal. The numbers are safe. The numbers do not whisper. You are Elias Thorne. You are forty-two. You have been a...
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