The Distant Metropolis
The rain in Millhaven did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into a treacherous mirror of the soot-choked sky that hung low and heavy over the textile district in the winter of 1892. Elias Vane, twelve years old and built with the wiry, underfed resilience of a street rat, stood at the edge of the loom floor, his hands raw and bleeding from the...
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