The Pale Verdict
The iron gates of the Foundry Hall had been welded shut for three years, a rusted scar across the soot-stained brick, but Elias Thorne still remembered the precise weight of the key that no longer fit the lock. He stood in the shadow of the north wall, his breath hitching in the cold November air, feeling the vibration of the industrial heartbeat that pulsed through the soles of his boots....
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