The Distant Machine
I Custodia Carvalho sat in the cellar of the fire station, the smell of damp brick and old rope heavy in his throat. He was a man who had spent thirty-four years counting the dead in ledgers, and now the iron taste was back, sharp as a penny bitten between his teeth. Outside, the dust from the dockyards settled on his shoulders, a physical weight that no brush could remove. He opened the rent...
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