The Wistful Voyage
The ink on the ledger had not yet dried, but to Elias Thorne, it looked less like pigment and more like a wound that would never close. He sat in the back office of the Whitmore & Sons Logistics Depot, a space that smelled of stale coffee, damp wool, and the metallic tang of old paper. Outside, the rain lashed against the single, fogged window, blurring the world into a gray smear of industrial...
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