The Wistful Silence
The train hissed into the station at Blackwood, a long, mournful exhalation that seemed to pull the dampness from the air and press it against the glass of the carriage windows. Elias Thorne stepped onto the platform, his leather briefcase heavy in his hand, the weight of it a familiar anchor in a life that had recently become untethered. He was a man of precise habits and quiet observation, a...
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