The Faded Chronicle
The train was late. Again. Margaret stood at the window, watching the grey mist swallow the passing fields. The glass was cold against her cheek. She held her briefcase tightly. It felt heavy. Inside were the files. The evidence. The truth. She had traveled for three hours. London to Leeds. A long way to go for a quiet conversation. But quiet was what she wanted. Quiet was what she needed. The...
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