Sofía feels a strange pull. She closes her eyes, and the archive melts away.
The scene shifts. It is now 1848. Sofía is on the streets of Paris, not Manchester. Joaquín is older, harder. He has fled England and now fights alongside French republicans. They are building a barricade.
“The ludditas broke the machines,” he whispers. “They said the iron monster was the enemy. But the monster is just iron. The real enemy is the man who owns the monster and calls me ‘free’ because I can choose to starve or work.”
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