The Faded Bouquet
The list was pinned to the iron door with a rusted nail, its paper yellowed and brittle at the edges. Elara Holloway read it twice, the ink blurring in the gaslight’s flicker, her fingers trembling against the cold metal. It was a charge sheet, typed in the stiff, impersonal script of the mill office: *Sabotage of Loom Four. Arson. Destruction of Property.* She knew the name of the foreman who...
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