The Pale Banner
The letter was damp, the ink of the recommendation bleeding into the cheap paper like a bruise. I held it up to the slanted light of the loading dock, watching the fibers swell, while Silas leaned against the rusted frame of the freight elevator, polishing his boots with a rag that had long since lost its color. "You’re holding that wrong, Thomas," Silas said, his voice smooth as oiled timber....
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