The Pale Meridian
The collapse of the North Wing was not a sudden event, but a long, agonizing exhalation of rusted iron and crumbling masonry that swallowed the dawn light in a cloud of grey dust, leaving the factory floor in a silence so profound it seemed to vibrate against the eardrums. Silas Vane stood in the center of the ruined aisle, his leather boots caked in the fine, powdery residue of the demolished...
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