The Faded Sutra
The eviction notice was a square of brittle, yellowed paper, pinned to the door with a rusted nail that had long since lost its sheen. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hand hovering over the seal, the ink of the city’s stamp smudged where he had touched it with a damp finger. He was forty years old, and his hands, which had once been steady enough to break a man’s jaw with a single blow, now...
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