The Distant Whispers
The boiler room smelled of rust and wet wool. It was a heavy, suffocating scent that clung to the back of the throat, tasting of iron. Captain Elias Thorne stood before the main pressure gauge, his hands shaking not from the cold, but from the adrenaline that had flooded his system three hours ago. The steam whistle had screamed at dawn, a sound like a dying animal, and then silence had fallen...
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