The Faded Attic
The hall of the Ironwood Institute hummed with a low, industrial thrum, a vibration that traveled through the floorboards and into the bones of every man who stood within its circular walls. It was a banquet of sorts, though not of food; it was a feast of silence and sweat, of heavy leather and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone that hung thick in the air. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the...
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