The Wistful Voyage
The hall smelled of damp wool and old varnish, a scent that clung to the back of Theo’s throat like a stubborn cough. It was the annual review at the St. Jude’s Institute for Urban Preservation, a sprawling, soot-stained cathedral of brick and glass that had once been a textile mill. The air was thick with the hum of fluorescent lights and the low, rhythmic chatter of forty men and women in...
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