The Wistful Mountain
The ledger recorded forty-one hours of labor, two sacks of charcoal, and one life for the pension. Arthur Vane checked the figures twice, the ink still wet on the page, before he signed his name with a hand that trembled only slightly. He was forty years old, and his daughter, Elara, would turn eighteen in six weeks. The Blackwood Ironworks had a policy: a senior engineer who oversaw the final...
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