The Distant Journey

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2026-08-17 19:15:57 -

The bus smelled of wet wool and stale coffee, a thick, cloying vapor that seemed to cling to the back of my throat, making it difficult to draw a full breath as we rattled over the potholes of the industrial district, where the fog lay heavy on the cobblestones like a shroud draped over a sleeping giant, and I held the brass compass in my left hand, its cold metal biting into my palm, a small,...

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