The Wistful Witness
The boiler exploded at dawn. It was a Tuesday. The steam was white and screaming. It tore through the ceiling of the mill in Leeds, a jagged wound in the grey sky. I was standing on the catwalk. I held a wrench in my hand. The heat hit my face like a slap. Then the silence came. The silence was heavier than the noise. I am Elias Thorne. I have been the head of the steam division for thirty...
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