The Pale Exile
The boiler hissed. It was a long, metallic exhalation. Thomas heard it in his teeth. He sat in the corner of the attic room. The air was thick with dust and the smell of old brass. Outside, the city of New York roared. Steam rose from the grates. It blurred the streetlamps. Thomas watched the steam. He did not blink. He was holding a key. It was cold iron. It was heavy. It fit no lock he knew....
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