The Distant Affair
Thorne. The name was spat out by the foreman, Halloway, into the thick, yellowing air of the workshop, a sound like a stone dropped into a well. You were Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, your lungs already a patchwork of scarred tissue from ten years of breathing iron dust, and you stood there with a hand-drawn schematic in your pocket, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped...
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