The Golden Crossing
Thorne! Elias Thorne, you’re late for the line! The foreman’s voice cut through the humid air of the mill floor, sharp and unyielding, snapping the haze of the celebration that had lingered in my lungs since the harvest feast. I straightened my back, the motion sending a dull throb through my ribs, and walked toward the time clock with my head down, the taste of cheap wine and roasted pork...
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