The Faded Photograph
The train cut through the gray belly of the city with a mechanical indifference that felt almost personal. Elias Vance sat in the corner of the third-class carriage, his coat buttoned to the throat, the wool damp from the drizzle that had persisted since dawn. In his lap lay a small, leather-bound case, worn smooth by years of handling, its brass clasps tarnished by the sweat of his palms and...
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