The Pale Bridge
The name was called out in the pre-dawn dark, a sharp, bureaucratic bark that cut through the silence of the mill like a knife through wet wool. "Thorne," Halloway said, standing in the doorway with a ledger in one hand and a lantern in the other, his shadow stretching long and thin across the floorboards. "You are behind on your quota, and the debt is due by Friday, or this workshop becomes...
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