The Distant Metropolis
Act I Carl Pell’s hands moved with the frantic, rhythmic precision of a man trying to outrun his own shadow, the quill scratching against the damp parchment as he copied the last entry into the Archive’s final ledger. The heat in the hollow was a physical weight, pressing down on the roof of the workshop where the one missing bench stood as a gap in the world, a void that seemed to pull the air...
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