The Faded Quadrant
The train from Seattle to Portland did not so much arrive at the station as it surrendered to it, the diesel engines groaning in a low, mechanical register that seemed to vibrate through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots and into the marrow of his bones, a physical reminder that he was a man out of time moving through a world that had already decided he was obsolete. He clutched a duffel bag...
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