The Distant Nightmare
The coal dust was already in Arthur Vane’s teeth before he even opened the door. He spat it into the sink, a dark smear against the porcelain, and looked at the small stack of bills on the counter. Twelve pounds owed to the landlord. Eight to the grocer. The numbers were cold, hard things, heavier than the pick he had swung for ten years. Elara stood in the doorway, her hands twisted in the hem...
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