The Faded Photograph
The photograph was a rectangle of sepia-toned decay, its edges softened by years of being handled, tucked into the inner breast pocket of Elias Thorne’s wool cardigan. He held it in his left hand, the thumb rubbing against the faded image of his father, a man who had died with stone dust in his lungs and a ledger in his hand, while the right hand remained empty, clenched into a fist that...
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