The Wistful Petal
The rain in New Caledonia did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain that blurred the iron skeletons of the factories and the soot-stained faces of the workers. Elias Thorne moved through the street with the heavy, deliberate grace of a man who had long ago ceased to be surprised by the weight of the air. He was a large man, built like the old shipyards, broad in the shoulder and silent in...
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