The Faust Kick
London, 1887. The Thames ran black as ink beneath the gas lamps, and in the white-chapped slums where the fog never truly lifted, a boy named Ethan Brennan kicked a ball against a brick wall. Not a proper ball—the kind stitched with coarse thread and filled with damp straw that every East End street kid knew. But Ethan kicked it as if it were gold. He did not know why. He only knew that when...
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