The Wistful Skyline
The ledger had listed three hundred and twelve iron clamps for the eastern buttress, but Elias Thorne counted only one remaining in the mud, its surface pitted by centuries of rust and the relentless, acidic bite of the November rain. He stood in the nave of the ruined Chapel of St. Aldhelm, his concrete boots sinking into the slurry with a wet, sucking sound that felt less like settling stone...
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