The Wistful Voyage
The letter lay on the kitchen table, its envelope unsealed but the paper inside folded tight as a fist. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands resting on the edge of the oak, the wood grain cool under his calloused palms. Outside, the rain lashed against the windowpane, a rhythmic, indifferent percussion that matched the heavy thud of his own heartbeat. He was a man built for order, for the...
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