The Wistful Witness
The loom struck the shuttle and the noise was a physical weight, a grey hammer blow that landed on Elara Vance’s chest every time the beater swung forward, and in the middle of that relentless, deafening percussion, a voice from the floor manager’s office cut through the air like a blade, sharp and distinct enough to make her flinch, "Vance! Vance, you there?" She did not look up immediately;...
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