The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-21 12:43:50 -

The rain did not fall. It hung. It suspended itself in the air above the Millhaven Textile Works, a gray, static veil that turned the world into a watercolor left out in the damp. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wet wool and machine oil. It smelled of industry. It smelled of time being ground down to powder. Arthur Penhaligon stood at the edge of the floor, his hands clasped behind...

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