The Distant Summer
The pen trembled in Elias Thorne’s grip, the nib scratching a thin, jagged line across the ledger. The sound was dry, like a bone being snapped in half. Outside, the fog of Ashworth Mill pressed against the glass, a cold, wet hand against the windowpane. Elias looked up. Clara stood in the doorway. She was twelve, small and pale, but her shadow did not match her. The shadow stretched across the...
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