The Distant Wound
The iron bell above the door of the Ashworth & Sons Foundry did not ring so much as it groaned, a low, resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of the city’s bones, shaking the dust from the high, vaulted ceilings where the condensation of the forge met the cold November air. Elias Ashworth stood at the center of the workshop, his hands stained not merely with grease and...
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