The Pale Echo
The banquet hall of the Blackwood Foundry was a cavern of heat and smoke, the air thick with the scent of roasted pork and the metallic tang of the new steel being poured in the adjacent factory floor. Three hundred guests sat in rows of heavy oak chairs, their faces illuminated by the flickering gaslights that struggled against the pervasive gloom of the industrial dusk. Elias Thorne stood at...
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