The Wistful Dinner
The rain had not stopped for three days, and it drummed against the high, soot-stained windows of the Blackwood Station with a persistent, rhythmic insistence that seemed to mimic the steady, unyielding ticking of the clock on the wall, a sound that Colonel Elias Thorne had long since ceased to hear as mere noise but now recognized as the heartbeat of a place that was slowly, inexorably eating...
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