The fog thickened over London like a shroud drawn across a dying...

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2026-05-30 16:47:27 -

The fog thickened over London like a shroud drawn across a dying man's face. Eleanor Ashworth stood at the window of her brother's laboratory and watched the gas lamps flicker below, their yellow halos bleeding into the fog like watercolors on wet paper.

"They're calling it a cathedral," Thomas said from the workbench, not looking up from his calculations. "A steam-powered cathedral. Moveable. They'll lift Whitechapel off its foundations and carry it seven miles north." Eleanor turned from the window. The laboratory was a cathedral of a different sort—cramped with brass instruments, glass tubes filled with bubbling chemicals, and towering steam...

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