The Wistful Witness
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall; it hung, a suspended gray curtain that smelled of sulfur and wet iron. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and you have walked the same six blocks to the Vane Mill for three weeks, waiting for a chance to speak to the man who owns your father’s debt. You want the ledger position. You need it to keep the mill from taking your house, your name, your last...
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