The Distant Metropolis
The rain lashed against the high, arched windows of the Blackwood manor with a rhythmic, insistent fury, a sound that Elias Thorne had long since learned to tune out in favor of the deeper, subsonic hum that vibrated through the floorboards and into the bones of his forty-year-old frame, a low-frequency thrum that the local engineers had dismissed as geological instability but which Elias knew,...
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