The Wistful Throne
The brass key in Elias Thorne’s hand was heavy, cold, and etched with a serial number that did not match the inventory ledger he had spent the morning reconciling. He stood in the antechamber of the Aetheric Textile Mill, a vast, windowless cavern in the industrial district where the air tasted of ozone and wet iron, and watched the glow of the core reactor pulse through the steel mesh of the...
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