The Pale Path
The rain had stopped, but the air still tasted of wet iron and old dust. I stood at the edge of the platform, watching the last light fade from the tracks. My name is Arthur. I am a man who looks for things that are not there. I am a detective of the intangible. The station was empty. The smell of oil and rust hung heavy in the cool air. I held the small glass vial in my left hand. It was cold....
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