The Faded Quadrant
The hammer struck the iron nail with a dull, final thud, the sound reverberating through the hollow chest of the watchtower and into the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones. He did not look up from the splintered oak beam he was shoring, his hands slick with the black, viscous mud that seeped from the floorboards, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts that fogged in the damp air. This was the...
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