The Wistful Ashes
The intake form lay on the steel table, the ink still wet where Elias had signed it with a shaking hand. He stared at the signature, *E. Thorne*, and felt the paper’s grain against his thumb, rough and dry. Across the room, the Head Warden, a man named Silas, stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Silas did not look angry. He looked tired, the way a farmer looks at a field after a long...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare