The Golden Cellar
The train station in Oakhaven smelled of wet wool and coal smoke, a thick, suffocating perfume that clung to the skin like a second, heavier coat. Elias Thorne stood on the platform, his hand resting on the iron railing, feeling the cold metal bite into his palm, while the wind tore at the hem of his coat and whipped his hair across his face in chaotic, desperate strands. Beside him stood his...
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