The Wistful Witness
The train cut through the grey mist of the English countryside with a rhythmic, metallic sigh that seemed to echo the deep, tectonic shifts happening within the chest of Major Elias Thorne, who sat rigid in the corner of the second-class carriage, his hands resting on his knees, white-knuckled and still, as if he were holding the very fabric of reality together against a wind that only he could...
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