The Distant Crown

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2026-08-20 16:40:48 -

The Distant Crown

The hammer rang out. It was a sharp, metallic scream that cut through the damp air of the factory floor. Thomas Whitmore flinched. His back ached, a deep, grinding pain that had become his constant companion. He was forty-two years old. He felt sixty. The ironworks of King’s Row were vast and cold, a cathedral of soot and steam. The heat pressed against his skin. He wiped his brow with a rag...

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