The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-20 16:09:17 -

The fog was thick. It tasted of iron and old rot. I stood on the platform at the edge of the Blackwood Station. The air was heavy. My lungs burned. Each breath was a fight. The train had not come. It never came. Not for me. Not anymore. I was here to find the truth. Or so I told myself. I was a detective. A seeker of patterns in the noise. But the noise had swallowed me. The case was simple on...

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