The Faded Dust
The rain in Harrow’s Cove did not wash things clean; it only made the grime slicker. Elias Thorne, twelve years old and sharp-featured, stood in the doorway of the filtration plant, watching the gray slurry pulse through the copper pipes that ran like veins beneath the town’s cobblestones. He wanted out. He wanted the key to the master’s logbook, the one that held the proprietary "Faded Dust"...
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