The Faded Guest
The bus did not stop at the designated bay, but instead ground its tires against the gravel of the shoulder, shuddering into a halt that felt less like a mechanical failure and more like a sudden, collective holding of breath. Elias Thorne, a man whose uniform had long since faded from a crisp navy blue to the color of old denim, sat in the back row with his hands folded in his lap, knuckles...
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