The Wistful Skyline
The hammer struck the limestone, a dull, wet thud that traveled up through the soles of my boots and settled in the marrow of my shins, and I looked up to see Heinrich standing in the doorway, his face pale with the particular strain of a man who has been shouting for hours. He did not speak, but the silence between us was heavy with the dust that hung in the slanted afternoon light, a fine...
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