The Wistful Show
The train groaned against the iron rails, a sound that seemed to vibrate not just in the tracks but in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones, a low, persistent thrum that mirrored the frantic, arrhythmic hammering of his own heart as he clutched his leather satchel to his chest with a grip so tight his knuckles turned the color of old bone. He was a man who lived in the architecture of arguments,...
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