The Wistful Petal
The train hissed as it pulled into the station at Greylock, a sound like a long, metallic sigh that seemed to stretch the very air. Elias Thorne stood at the window, his reflection ghostly against the darkening glass, watching the steam curl into the twilight. He was not a man of great stature, nor of particular charm, but he possessed a stillness that made people look twice and then look away,...
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