The Distant Legend
Could a woman hold the weight of a dead man’s silence? Aiko Saito stood in the back room where accounts were kept, the air heavy with damp wool and old paper. She held a stone, cold and rough, against her palm. It hummed, a low vibration that traveled up her wrist and settled in the hollow of her throat. Outside, the afternoon thunder rolled across the Tōhoku farm belt, shaking the windowpanes...
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