The Clockwork Hound
The smog of 1888 London was not merely weather; it was a living entity, a sulfurous shroud that clung to the cobblestones and muted the screams of the East End. Alistair Sterling lived above the roar of the looms in a manor that smelled of ozone and machine oil. He was a man of the New Age, a factory owner whose wealth was built on the relentless rhythm of steam and steel. Sterling believed...
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