The Distant Threshold
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the edges of the iron foundry and the cobblestones beyond, turning the world into a watercolor painting left out in the damp. You stood in the center of the great hall, the air thick with the smell of wet wool, coal smoke, and the faint, metallic tang of the river that ran beneath the city’s foundations....
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