The Distant Joke
The train leaves the station at dawn. You do not look back. You cannot afford to. The air is cold, biting at your exposed cheeks, and the smell of coal smoke clings to your wool coat like a ghost. You are Elias Thorne. Or you were, in the city that is now only a smudge of memory behind the glass. Here, in the carriage, you are simply a man with a satchel and a hunger that has become a second...
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