The Pale Path
"Look at it. Is it not beautiful?" "Quiet, Thomas." The steam hissed from the boiler, a sharp, angry sound in the silence of the station. It was the kind of silence that presses against the ears, thick and wet, smelling of coal dust and old iron. You stood by the open door, your coat buttoned to the chin, though the air was not cold. It was never cold in the Loop. The heat here was a living...
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