The train rattled over the tracks. The rhythm was a dull thud. Thud. Thud. It matched the beat in Cole’s chest. He sat by the window. The glass was cold. His hand pressed against it. The skin was pale. The veins stood out like blue worms. He was a constable in the old days. Now he was just a man who was sick. The air in the carriage smelled of damp wool and old sweat. He did not like it. He...
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