The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-20 16:29:38 -

The frost had not yet taken the ground, but the air in the Whitmore & Sons Foundry tasted of iron and impending winter. Silas Vane stood before the great blast furnace, his hands gloved in thick leather that smelled of tallow and old sweat. He was a man of few words, a craftsman of the metal trade, but today his silence was a heavy thing, a wall built to keep out the noise of the shop floor....

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