The Iron Heart of Clara Voss
Clara Voss wiped her hands on a greasy rag, the scent of oil and burnt coal clinging to her skin like a second layer. The camp was a fever dream of dust and noise—hammers clanging, voices rising in a cacophony…
Clara Voss wiped her hands on a greasy rag, the scent of oil and burnt coal clinging to her skin like a second layer. The camp was a fever dream of dust and noise—hammers clanging, voices rising in a cacophony…