The Golden Downtown
The fog that rolled into the harbor of Ironclad City did not merely obscure the skyline; it devoured it, a thick, gray wool drawn over the eyes of the world until the spires of the Old Exchange and the rusted skeletons of the dry docks became ghostly suggestions rather than solid facts, and Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the pier, his leather boots soaking through with the cold,...
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