In the old bakery, the air was thick with the smell of wet cement and stone dust. But Bernard stopped working, leaning his shovel against the wall with a heavy grunt.
He looked over at Milo. The young man was slumped against a stack of bricks, his face pale, streaked with gray dirt, and his chest heaving.
"Go clean yourself up," Bernard said, his voice booming in the quiet room. "You look like a mess. We can continue again tomorrow."
Milo looked up, his eyes tired. "Are you sure, Sir? I can bring a few more bricks."
"Yes," Bernard grunted, wiping his hands on a rag. "You've been running back and forth all afternoon. You look as pale as a corpse. If you collapse, Salvatore will have my head. Go. Get some water."
Milo sighed, then nodded. He stood up slowly, his muscles aching. He felt a layer of grime on his skin that made him itch, and the gold rings in his chest felt heavy and sore from the constant movement.
