The Distant Journey
The rain did not fall so much as it materialized, a dense, gray fog that clung to the wet asphalt of the London streets with a tenacity that felt personal, almost accusatory, as if the city itself were trying to erase the footprints of those who dared to leave their homes on this particular Tuesday. Elias Thorne stood on the platform at King’s Cross, his briefcase hanging limp by his side, the...
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