The Golden Crossing
You count the sparks. One, two, three. They fly from the crucible like golden seeds, catching the low light of the furnace room. You are Elias Thorne, fifty-two years old, and your heart beats against your ribs like a trapped bird. You have worked the night shift at Kessler Ironworks for thirty years. You know the weight of every ingot, the sound of every gear. You want your pension. You want...
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