The Pale Fracture
The train smelled of coal dust and wet wool. Elias Thorne sat by the window, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the seat. Across the aisle, a man in a grey coat watched him. The man’s eyes were dark, deep pools that seemed to drink the light from the carriage. Elias looked away. He adjusted the tie around his neck. It was a silk tie, navy blue with small, faded gold threads. It had...
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