The fog that winter of 1888 did not roll in from the sea so much as rise from the earth itself, as though London's streets exhaled a breath they had been holding for centuries. Thomas Whitmore stood a
He had been summoned three days ago to a townhouse in Mayfair that he was certain did not appear on any city plan. A man with a scar through his left eyebrow--later learned to be Inspector Henry Graves, retired from Scotland Yard--had told him the words that would unmake his quiet academic life. "You are the fourth candidate for the Hearth Project, Professor. The first drowned in his bathtub at...
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