The Faded Ruin
The coat was not merely wet; it was saturated with a dark, viscous substance that smelled of iron and old earth, a scent that Elias Thorne had tried to scrub from his own skin for three weeks without success. He stood in the center of the intake ward, a sterile room of white tiles and humming fluorescent lights that buzzed with the indifference of a trapped insect, clutching the tattered wool...
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