The Golden Crossing
The train left at dawn. It always did. I watched the tail lights fade into the grey mist that clung to the tracks like a wet shroud. My name is Elias Thorne, and I am the keeper of the boundary. Or so they say. In the town of Oakhaven, where the fog never fully lifts and the shadows stretch longer than physics allows, I am not a man. I am a line. A demarcation. A stain on the map that refuses...
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