The Faded Frontier
Elias. The name comes from the dark, a low rumble that seems to shake the dust off the rafters. You are standing in the shadow of the new iron gate, your hand on the cold, greasy metal, feeling the vibration of the town’s anger in the wood beneath your boots. It is 1912, and the air in the mill town smells of wet coal and old sweat. You want the job. You need the job. The ledger in your pocket...
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