The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-20 19:15:48 -

The fire started in the boiler room of the textile mill. It was a Tuesday. The air tasted of sulfur and wet wool. Elias Thorne did not run. He stood on the bridge of the river, watching the smoke rise like a black pillar against the gray sky. His hands were locked in his pockets. His heart beat a slow, heavy drum against his ribs. He was a prisoner of his own guilt. He had not caused the fire....

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