The Wistful Ashes
The train did not arrive on a track, but it arrived nonetheless, sliding into the depot with a silence that seemed to suck the air from the lungs of the waiting passengers. Elara stood at the platform’s edge, her fingers wrapped tightly around the brass handle of a small, unremarkable briefcase, feeling the metal grow warm against her skin, a heat that pulsed in time with the rhythm of her own...
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