The Distant Whispers
The morning fog in the garrison town of Harrowgate did not lift so much as it was dissolved by the black, sulfurous exhalations of the textile mills that lined the river, a thick, grey miasma that settled into the wool of their uniforms and the pores of their skin, making the air taste of copper and old rust. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood by the window of the officer’s mess, his reflection...
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