The Pale Bridge
The contract is on the table, Elias, and the ink is dry, so you have no more time to argue with the stone. Silas stands behind you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a weight that feels less like support and more like a noose tightening around your neck. The room smells of damp wool and the sharp, metallic tang of the bridge renovation budget spread across the oak desk. Outside, the fog...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima