The Golden Mirror
"You're leaving the shop, then? The tools are packed, the door is open, and the fog is already coming in off the water, so yes, it seems we are done here." I had not meant to say it aloud, but the words came out flat and final, landing on the floorboards like a dropped hammer. Antonio Pelayo, forty-two years old, a man whose hands were permanently stained with the fine, metallic dust of glass...
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