The Faded Attic
The estimate called for four hundred and twelve hours of labor to gut the house, a number Elias Thorne had circled in red ink on the blueprint spread across his kitchen table, the paper yellowing at the edges like old skin. He was thirty-two, an insurance adjuster who measured risk in columns and rows, and he had come back to Oakhaven to liquidate his father’s estate, to turn the rotting...
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