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... the building, older than the city, older than the idea of mercy.
I had stared at it in the shattered crater beneath the factory. Eight crests were carved into its rusted iron face.
A bleeding coin.
An eyeless owl.
A broken shield.
The metal had pulsed faintly in the mud, as if it remembered something the world had buried.
I didn’t stay in the courtyard to celebrate. I left the Iron Legion standing in the freezing fog, turned my back on the bankrup ...
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