The Golden Farce
The rain hammered against the corrugated tin roof of the station, a rhythmic, deafening drumbeat that drowned out the sputtering of the diesel engine and the distant wail of the whistle. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the platform, his uniform soaked through, the dark wool clinging to his ribs like a second skin. He was a man built for the job, broad-shouldered and silent, but today his...
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