The Faded Dust

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2026-08-20 18:50:49 -

The Faded Dust

The morning air in the mill town of Oakhaven tasted of iron and wet wool. It was a cold that did not sit on the skin but burrowed into the marrow, a pervasive dampness that seemed to emanate from the very stones of the Victorian warehouse where Arthur Penhaligon had spent the last thirty years of his life. He stood by the loading dock, watching the fog roll in from the river, thick and gray,...

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