The Golden Crossing
The train hissed. It pulled away. The platform emptied. Elias stood still. His hands trembled. They were long. Thin. Like birch branches in winter. He watched the dust settle. The air smelled of coal and damp wool. It was 1899. The city was a beast of iron and steam. He did not look back. He could not. His name was Elias Thorne. He was a man of the unseen. The townsfolk called him the Reader....
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