The Distant Journey
The coal had to be weighed before the ink dried, Mr. Thorne. Do you understand the weight of that? Elias Thorne, twelve years old and already stooped from the draft that slithered under the doors of the Ironclad Shipping Line’s administrative tower, nodded. He stood in the archives, a room that smelled of damp wool and the metallic tang of rusted gears. The tower was not merely a building; it...
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