The Golden Maze
The boiler room of the Halloway Textile Mill did not merely emit heat; it exhaled a thick, sulfurous fog that settled in the crevices of the brickwork and the lungs of men, a pervasive miasma that smelled of burnt oil and old sweat, turning the air into a heavy, tangible substance that clung to the skin like a second, uncomfortable layer of clothing. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the primary...
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