The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-20 10:15:21 -

The rain did not fall so much as it pressed against the glass, a grey, persistent hand trying to erase the world outside my cabin window. I sat in the silence of the moving train, my hands resting on the worn leather of my satchel, feeling the vibration of the wheels in my bones. For three years, I had worn the uniform of the Border Security Agency, a badge of authority that felt increasingly...

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