The Distant Blade
The notice lay on the oak desk, its edges curling slightly in the dry, heated air of the workshop. It was a formal letter from the solicitors, printed on heavy cream stock, informing Elias Thorne that the estate sale was confirmed for the first of the month. He stared at the date, the ink dark and final, and felt a familiar tightness in his chest, a physical recoil against the inevitability of...
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