The Distant Journey

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2026-08-25 10:10:12 -

The iron chisel sat in my palm, cold enough to bite into the skin of my thumb, its edge worn smooth by years of striking the same hard surface. I held it up to the gaslight, watching the flame flicker against the metal, and I thought about the four shillings I owed for this very tool, a debt that sat heavier on my chest than the chisel itself. My name is Arthur Vane, and I have worked the night...

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