The Pale Fracture
The train did not merely arrive at the station of Greyhaven; it exhaled into the fog, a great iron lung releasing steam that tasted of sulfur and old iron, and Elias Thorne stood on the platform with his satchel clutched so tightly against his ribs that the leather creaked in protest, a sound indistinguishable from the groaning of the sleepers beneath his boots. He was a man who had spent the...
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