The Golden Crossing
The iron gate of the Foundry District groaned open, a sound like a dying animal clearing its throat, as Thomas Bradshaw stood at the threshold, his uniform pressed stiff with the sweat of a man who has forgotten how to breathe without effort, his hand resting not on his weapon but on the cold, wet stone of the wall beside him, feeling the pulse of the city thrumming through the mortar like a...
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