The Faded Shield
The boiler room of the Halloway Textile Mill was a cathedral of iron and steam, a place where the air hung thick and heavy as wet wool, saturated with the metallic taste of hot oil and the sulfurous breath of the furnaces. Elias Thorne sat on a rusted crate, his back against the cold, vibrating flank of the primary pressure vessel, listening to the rhythmic, mechanical heartbeat of the...
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