The Pale Exile
The iron breath of the city, thick with coal smoke and the metallic tang of impending rain, did not bother Elias Thorne as it bothered the others, because Elias had long ago stopped being a man of flesh and blood in the way the inspectors understood it, having instead become a conduit for the steam that hissed through the walls of the Grand Meridian Hotel, a building that was less a structure...
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