The Golden Crossing
The lichen in my pocket was warm. It had been warm for three days, a faint, pulsing heat against my thigh that felt less like a temperature and more like a second heartbeat. I am Elias Thorne, a coal inspector of twenty years, and I knew that warmth. It was the weight of a lie. I had signed off on the ventilation schematics for the Blackwood Shaft two days prior, certifying that the new air...
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