The Faded Shield
The iron gate of the Blackwood Armory did not rust so much as it seemed to have absorbed the gray of the perpetual London fog, blending until the boundary between the metal and the air became a suggestion rather than a fact. I stood before it, my hand resting on the cold iron, feeling the vibration of the city’s industry humming through the bars. Inside, in the dimly lit hall that smelled of...
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