The Wistful Witness
The steam rose from the grate in a thin, gray ribbon, curling around the iron frame like a ghost refusing to leave the room. Elias stood before it, his hands resting on the cold metal, feeling the vibration of the city’s heart beating through the floorboards. He was a man who had carried his home in a suitcase that never quite fit into the overhead racks of the trains that took him further and...
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