The Faded Road
The ink on the page was still wet, bleeding into the cheap pulp paper with a dark, spreading stain that looked less like a record of hours worked and more like a bruise forming under the skin of the mill floor. Clara Vane’s finger hovered over the number, her nail broken and jagged from the night before, while the rhythmic, pounding thud of the looms continued its endless, mechanical heartbeat...
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