The Distant Nightmare
The brickwork of the Millburn Signal Tower had not been built to house men, but the war had forced it to. You stood now in the narrow, spiraling stairwell, the air thick with the smell of wet iron and the stale, copper tang of your own fatigue. Below, the town of Millburn lay sprawled in the valley, a patchwork of slate roofs and chimneys exhaling gray smoke into the twilight. It was a place of...
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