The Wistful Witness
The train rattled into the depot of St. Jude’s with a sound like a bone snapping, the metal shivering in the cold morning air, and I stepped out onto the platform not as a man returning to a life, but as a relic dragged back into the light of a world that had forgotten how to hold still. The air tasted of coal dust and wet wool, a sharp, metallic tang that coated the back of my throat, and...
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