The Wistful Silence
The train hissed to a halt in the gray dawn, exhaling a plume of steam that mingled with the mist rising off the frozen creek. Elias Thorne stepped onto the wooden platform, his boots sinking slightly into the slush. He carried a single leather satchel, worn smooth by years of handling evidence and carrying weight, and he held the air with the stillness of a man who had learned to disappear...
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