The Distant Journey

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2026-08-17 10:51:35 -

The rain against the windowpane of the stationmaster’s office is a thin, persistent drumming, a rhythm that has no beginning and no end. You sit in the heavy oak chair, the leather cracked and dry under your palms. On the table before you lies a single object: a silver pocket watch, its chain tarnished black with age and use. It does not tick. It has not ticked for three days. You hold it in...

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