The Pale Fracture
The coat was blue. It had been blue for a long time, a specific, bruised shade of denim that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it, and now it was fraying at the hem where the thread had given way to the relentless friction of the city’s iron bones. Elias Thorne wore it because it was the only thing he owned that still fit, and because in the dim, perpetual twilight of the Foundry...
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