The Faded Dust
Thorne. The word was not spoken so much as it was exhaled by the steam rising from the radiator, a dry, rattling hiss that seemed to curl into the shape of my surname before dissolving into the stale air of the office. I woke with the taste of iron and coal dust on my tongue, the phantom weight of a surveyor’s chain still coiled around my neck, pressing against the hollow of my throat. It had...
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