The Faded River
The iron latch of the sluice gate groaned under the weight of Elias Thorne’s shoulder, a sound like a bone snapping in a cold room, as he forced the mechanism to stay shut against the rising pressure of the Blackwater. He was forty-two, a sergeant in the County Sanitation Corps, and his pension depended on the successful closure of this mill, a task that had become a matter of bureaucratic...
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