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The Distant WoundThe chrome mask of Director Vane reflected the sterile white of the Intake Hall, a perfect, cold mirror that caught the tremor in Elias Thorne’s left arm. "We do not trade in favors, Officer Thorne, only in currency," Vane said, his voice a flat, metallic hum that seemed to originate from the mask itself. "The file for your brother is in the red stack. To move it to the green stack, you must...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CircuitThe seal is warm in your hands, the wax still soft, smelling faintly of beeswax and old smoke. You press the golden circuit of thorns into it, holding your breath, feeling the weight of the metal against your thumb. It is a small thing, a circle of gold, but it feels heavy, heavier than the paper it rests upon. Outside, the cellar door rattles in the wind, a dry, wooden sound that has become...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ThroneMahsa Jafari was scraping the salt crust off a mutton carcass when the shadows in the archive room first touched her ankles, a cold weight that pulled at her boots and refused to let go. She had been at the docks for thirty years, handling the animals, breaking down the ships, and keeping the ledgers of debt that bound this mining borough to the Crown, but the heat today was a physical fact, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant BladeThorne. The word hung in the damp air of the barracks, sharp and cold, spoken by Corporal Higgs who stood at the foot of your bunk with a stack of ledgers clutched to his chest. You sat up, the wool blanket heavy and sweating against your skin, and for a moment you could not remember where you were, only that the dream was still there, a jagged shard of glass stuck behind your teeth. In the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrequencyFeng Liang scrubbed the silt from the clay rattle, his knuckles white against the cold river water, the midsummer rain hammering the hull like a fist against a door. The boat rocked, threatening to spill the last of the day’s cargo, and he could smell the wet rot of the riverbank rising to meet the damp wool of his tunic. He was thirty-two, and his hands, usually steady enough to hold a brush...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale TowerChapter One "You are late, Mr. Menon. The siren has sounded twice." Amit Menon stood in the signal box, the smell of wet diesel and thawing earth thick in his nose, a scent that clung to the wool of his coat and the skin of his wrists. The view through the narrow window was a blur of grey scree slope and the unreliable...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale EchoAct I Who pays for the silence? Pascal Fanon stood in the damp gloom of the archive, his fingers tracing the rough grain of the ledger, a book whose pages smelled of mildew and old blood. He was thirty-two, a man whose hands trembled only when he thought of his mother, dying in a charity ward with the lawsuit for their farm eating the last of their coin. The ledger lay open to a page where the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant WoundChapter One The shipyard hummed its low, metallic drone through the damp morning, a sound that vibrated in the teeth of every soul in the company town of Corvid Lane. It was a place of scrip and sweat, where the harvest had been good but the prices had collapsed, leaving the air heavy with rust and wet plaster. Rosalie DeClouet, thirty-two and hollow-eyed, stood in the cellar of the ancestral...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairElias Thorne pressed his thumb into the wet clay of the potter’s wheel, the resistance of the earth a familiar, cold bite against his skin. The gaslight in the restoration room hissed, a thin, reedy sound that seemed to vibrate in the hollow of his chest. He was shaping a shard of ceramic, a piece of the Ministry’s latest acquisition, but his mind was not on the curve of the clay. It was on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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