The Pale Door
The furnace coughed. It was a dry, rattling sound, like a lung filled with ash. "It’s the pressure valve again," said Silas. He stood by the glass port, his breath fogging the cold metal. "We’re losing steam. The whole grid is sagging." Elias did not look up from his ledger. The pen moved in short, sharp strokes. "Fix it, Silas. The town needs light by six." Silas turned. His face was a map of...
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