The Wistful Silence
The shroud is not finished, and you know the deadline is in three days, so why are you standing there with your hands in your pockets like a man waiting for rain? Elias Thorne did not look up from the loom, his fingers moving through the warp threads with the mechanical precision of a man who had long since stopped feeling the sting of the shuttle against his knuckles. The workshop in Oakhaven...
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