The Wistful Atlas
The train slowed to a crawl, the wheels grinding against the iron track with a sound like teeth chattering in a fever, and Elias Vance watched the landscape dissolve into a blur of gray birches and frozen mud. He was not a man who traveled much, certainly not without a specific, heavy burden to carry, and this journey was no exception. He sat in the window seat, his coat buttoned to the throat,...
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