The Wistful Cipher
The train pulled away from the station in a hiss of white steam, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the fog rolling in from the harbor. Elias Thorne stood on the platform, his gloved hand still raised in a gesture of farewell that had long since lost its urgency, holding only the cold air. He was a man of precise habits and precise words, a linguist who had spent thirty years...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen