The Distant Summer
The steam from the ironworks had settled into a permanent, yellowish haze that clung to the cobblestones of Millhaven, a spectral fog that seemed to breathe with the rhythmic pounding of the distant hammers, and as I stood on the platform of the night train, watching my father’s silhouette dissolve into the swirling mist, I felt the heavy, suffocating weight of a secret he had carried for forty...
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