The Pale Bridge
The train hissed into the station of Oakhaven, a long, metallic exhalation that seemed to vibrate in the teeth of Elias Thorne. He stepped onto the platform, his briefcase clutched against his chest like a shield, feeling the familiar, humming weight of the institution he had served for twenty years. The air here was thick, saturated with a static charge that tasted of copper and ozone. It was...
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