The Faded Alibi
The dream began with the rain. It was not a gentle weeping of the heavens, but a violent, industrial deluge that turned the cobblestones of Harrowgate into a black mirror. In the dream, Thomas Vane stood before the Old Ironworks. The building was a leviathan of rusted girders and shattered glass, half-swallowed by the fog. It did not stand so much as it endured, its skeleton exposed to the cold...
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