The Distant Legend
The letter sat on the desk, the ink still wet, smelling of iron and regret. Elias Vane had written three pages demanding his share of the Ashworth Iron Works, his hand trembling not from cold but from the low, subterranean hum that had begun to vibrate in the plaster of his rented room in Harrowgate. He believed his brother, Thomas, had stolen his name to escape the debt that had swallowed...
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