The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-19 14:00:27 -

The Wistful Saga

The rain did not fall. It hung there, a thick, gray curtain against the window of the intake bay. It was the kind of wet that settled into the bones, a cold that lived in the marrow. I sat in my chair, the leather worn thin by years of sitting, and watched the water smear the streetlights outside into long, bleeding streaks of amber. The station smelled of wet wool, stale coffee, and the sharp,...

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