The Faded Paradox
The fog in Blackwood City did not lift so much as it settled, a gray, industrial shroud that clung to the cobblestones and the soot-stained brickwork of the Victorian tenements. It was a city built on the sweat of the working class and the silence of the powerful, where the air tasted of coal dust and the metallic tang of old blood. Elias Thorne walked through it with the heavy, deliberate gait...
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