The Distant Crown
Ankie van Houten’s hands were already shaking by the time she reached for the spool, the tremor a fine, electric buzz that matched the pitch rising from the loom. She was thirty-two, a senior inspector in a trade that usually belonged to men twice her age, and she needed this pension more than she needed her own breath. The boiler room was sealed tight, the air thick with the heat of the...
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