The Pale Circus
The pressure gauge on the main boiler of the Blackwood Ironworks read forty-two pounds, but Elias Thorne’s hand, resting against the rivet line, felt a heat that should have been impossible, a dry and sucking warmth that had no business existing without a firebox, and he counted the seconds between the tick of the gauge and the shiver of the metal, one, two, three, while the smell of ozone and...
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