The Golden Echoes
The transit authority’s schedule for the night train to Zurich was a document of sterile, bureaucratic precision, printed in a sans-serif font that seemed to vibrate with a faint, electric indifference, yet for Elias Thorne, the paper was the only solid thing left in a world that had begun to dissolve into a shimmering, iridescent haze the moment the border controls in Geneva had waved him...
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