The Faded Shield
The coal smoke in the basement of the tenement on Saffron Street did not merely smell; it tasted of iron and rot, a thick, metallic film that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat as he stood before Mr. Vane. It was the winter of 1912, and the cold had settled into the very stones of the building, a damp, biting chill that Elias felt in the joints of his left knee, a souvenir from the...
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