The Distant Temple
The fog did not roll in; it stood, a grey wall of damp wool that swallowed the railway line whole, erasing the distinction between the platform and the void beyond. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the boarding ramp, his suitcase light in his hands, holding it the way a man holds a bone he is unsure how to break. He had come from a life of soot and silence, a life measured in the rhythmic...
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