The Wistful Skyline
The house in the hollow of the hill had stood for a century, its bones creaking in the wind like an old man shifting in his sleep, and it was into this damp, silent throat of timber and stone that Elias Thorne carried the iron box, a relic of a life he had left behind in the foggy grey streets of London, a life that smelled of coal dust and forgotten promises, and he set it upon the table in...
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