The Distant Blade
I counted the hours in the ledger, the ink drying black and stiff on the page. Twelve hours of silence in the Grand Hall, measured against the tick of the grandfather clock in the Ministry’s antechamber. I wanted the glass to hold. I wanted Silas to breathe. The wind outside was a low moan, pressing against the leaded panes, and the hum began again, a vibration in the teeth, in the bone. The...
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