The Pale Shadows
The ledger had forty-three pages. I counted them twice, my thumb dragging across the rough, fibrous edges, feeling the grit of coal dust that had settled into the paper’s weave over the last hour. My left knee throbbed in time with the room’s ambient hum, a dull, grinding ache that had become the metronome of my life. I was forty-two years old, and I had spent twenty of them breaking stone on...
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