The Distant Metropolis
The train hummed a low, persistent note as it cut through the gray dawn. Marcus Vance sat by the window, his reflection a ghostly overlay on the passing fields. He was a man carved from silence and duty, his uniform crisp, his spine rigid against the seatback. He was not looking at the city he was entering. He was looking at the version of himself that lived in the glass, the one who had never...
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