The Faded Attic
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of Millhaven into a slick, treacherous mirror of the industrial district’s soot-stained sky. Inside the municipal archive, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool, decaying paper, and the metallic tang of the heating pipes that groaned like dying beasts in the walls. Thomas Bradshaw sat at his...
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