The rain tasted like metal and salt, slick on Elisse’s skin. It hammered against the corrugated iron roofs of Ossa Bay’s marketplace, a rhythmic percussion that blended with the creak of wooden carts and the guttural calls of merchants hawking…
The October chill bit through Thomas’s patched coat, each gust off the Thames a slap in the face. Cobblestones slicked with drizzle reflected the gaslights in distorted halos. He tasted soot, even with the damp air. It clung to everything…
The fog tasted of coal and secrets. August clung to Violet’s threadbare shawl, the damp chilling him to the bone despite the summer month. Parliament House loomed, a gray beast breathing the city’s grime. Violet, barely ten, slipped between the…