The Wistful Show
Act I Notice No. 44-B: The mist is rising. All hands on deck. The border is thinning. Sunita Sengupta pulled the iron gauntlet tighter over her left hand. The metal was cold, fused to the bone, a constant ache that kept her anchored when the world tried to float away. She stood on the cobblestones of the mill district, where the fog rolled in from the river, thick and white, turning the gas...
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