The Faded Guest

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2026-08-20 02:53:09 -

The Faded Guest

The rain did not fall. It hovered. A suspended mist, thick as wool, clinging to the grey panes of the station platform. We stood there, my father and I, watching the darkness beyond the glass. The air smelled of wet iron and old paper. I was the investigator. Or so I had believed. A seeker of truth, a hunter of the unseen. My father was the suspect. Or the victim. The distinction had blurred in...

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