The Distant Metropolis
"Look at your hands, Thomas." The voice was not loud. It did not need to be. In the heavy, candle-lit silence of the antechamber, it carried the weight of stone. I looked down. My fingers were trembling. They were not shaking from fear, not exactly. They were shaking from the vibration of the air itself, a low hum that seemed to rise from the floorboards and settle in my bones. I tried to curl...
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