The Golden Cellar
The rain did not fall so much as it was forced into the earth by the sheer weight of the atmosphere, a grey, industrial downpour that turned the cobblestones of the precinct yard into a slick, reflective mirror of the looming brickwork. Inside the station, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool, stale tobacco, and the metallic tang of old fear, a sensory cocktail that had permeated the...
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