The Faded Apartment
"You are certain of the terms, Iain? The rent is due by the first, and the bank does not wait for snow to melt." The words from the projection booth hung in the air, sharp and cold, as Iain Fraser stared at the spliced floorboards of the manor’s back stairs. He was thirty-four, a coffin maker by trade, and his hands, usually steady enough to fit a lid to a box with a tolerance of a hair’s...
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