The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-20 02:08:52 -

The iron gate clanged shut behind me. The sound rang out, sharp and final, into the damp morning air. I was a man made of rust and cold. The factory loomed above, a beast of brick and soot. It breathed smoke into the grey sky. My name was Thomas Bradshaw. I was the night watchman. Or so the ledger said. The truth was simpler. I was a prisoner of my own duty. My son, Eli, was inside. Not in a...

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