The Distant Blade
The door was already locked when I turned the key, the iron tumblers clicking shut with a sound like a bone snapping. I looked up, my hands still slick with the grey sludge of the mordant, and found Master Halloway standing in the shadows of the dye vat, his face a mask of bureaucratic calm. "Elias," he said, his voice flat and administrative, "the batch is contaminated. It is a matter of...
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