The Distant Ghost
The banquet hall of the Halloway & Sons textile mill was not a place for feasting, but for the ritualistic consumption of status, where the air hung thick with the scent of stale tobacco and the metallic tang of impending labor, and there, amidst the clatter of tin plates and the low, grinding hum of machinery that never slept, Elara Vane stood with her ledger pressed against her chest like a...
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