The Pale Path
The train hissed to a halt in the grey morning, the sound a sharp, metallic exhalation that seemed to cut through the damp air of the station like a blade through wet cloth. Elias Thorne stepped off the carriage, his boots striking the platform with a finality that felt less like arrival and more like a sentence being read aloud, his uniform a shadow against the pale, indifferent sky. He...
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