The Pale Circus
"Put it in the ledger, under Kessler, not under the auction." Erika Kessler did not look up from the glass she was grinding. The stone wheel sang a low, abrasive note against the silica, a sound that vibrated in her teeth. She was thirty-two, and her hands were mapped with small, white scars from years of handling molten heat, but today the work felt cold. The workshop was a converted room in...
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