The Golden Echoes
The steam rose from the Halloway Mill in a thick, copper-tasting plume that clung to the fog of the autumn morning. Thomas Vane, twelve years old and thin as a reed, watched the smoke curl against the grey sky, his eyes fixed on the rhythmic pulse of the boiler room where his brother, Arthur, worked the night shift. Arthur was wasting away, his cough a wet, rattling thing that shook the frame...
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