The Faded River
The train hissed as it pulled away from the station at Harrowgate, a long, shuddering exhalation that seemed to drain the last of the winter’s breath from the platform, leaving behind a silence that was not empty but heavy, thick with the scent of coal smoke and wet wool. I stood there, my uniform pressed stiff against my ribs, the brass buttons of my tunic catching the dim, gray light of the...
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