The Distant Metropolis
The bus hummed a low, arrhythmic drone as it rolled through the grey, rain-slicked streets of Oakhaven, a town that had long since forgotten how to surprise itself. Elias Thorne sat in the back row, his knees pressed against the seat before him, his posture rigid with a discipline that had outlived its utility. He was fifty-four, a age that sat on him like a heavy, wet wool coat, and he watched...
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