The Faded Root
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain woven from industrial smoke and wet wool, strangled against the brickwork of the factory district. "You look like a man who’s lost his marbles, Sergeant," said Elias, his voice raspy, like a file dragging across rusted iron. He leaned against the doorframe of the boiler room, his cap tilted low, shielding eyes that had seen too many...
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