The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-24 15:10:34 -

The air in your office tastes of rust and stale tobacco, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat and settles in your lungs like a fine, invisible powder. It is three in the morning, the hour when the Blackwood Steel Foundry belongs to no one and everyone, and you sit before a desk cluttered with technical schematics and unpaid medical bills, the latter stacked in a precarious tower...

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