The Distant Summer
The separation was not marked by a dramatic farewell, but by the quiet, mechanical act of leaving the station, a place where the air always tasted of iron filings and stale coffee. Elias Thorne stood on the platform, his duffel bag heavy against his hip, watching the tail lights of the local train vanish into the grey morning mist. He was a man who had spent the better part of two decades in...
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