The Wistful Silence
Elias Thorne, you are under the impression that silence is a shield, but in this court, silence is a confession. The magistrate’s voice did not echo so much as it settled, a heavy, damp weight that pressed against the floorboards of the Guild Hall, a room where the air always tasted of stale beeswax and the particular, metallic chill of old iron. I stood before the bench, my hands clasped so...
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