The Faded Road
The chisel bit into the limestone with a sound like a bone snapping. Elias Thorne wiped the sweat from his brow with a forearm that was already stiff with cold, though the cellar of St. Jude’s Abbey was supposed to be insulated by the earth. He was forty years old, a mason of quiet dignity who had spent two decades raising walls for a living, and he had one specific, burning want: to complete...
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