The Wistful Witness
Magnus Ekstrom was a man of thirty-two years who had broken the King’s law for a jar of honey, and now he sat in the comms relay shed, listening to the gasp of the settling house as the September frost bit into the archipelago’s bones. The cold was a physical fact, a weight that pressed against the linoleum floor, and it made the medical printer in the corner hum a low, hungry note, its...
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