The Wistful Saga
Thorne, you’re blocking the door, and Halloway is waiting. Elias Thorne did not move until the phrase *blocking the door* registered in his mind, a small, sharp click like a bolt sliding into place. He was a man of forty years, built of the same dense, compacted carbon as the iron he shaped, his hands permanently stained with the black grease of the shop floor that no amount of lye soap could...
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