The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-20 22:52:55 -

The train cut through the fog like a blade through wet silk. Elias Thorne sat in the rear car, the leather seat cold against his back. He was a man of forty years, his face a map of old scars and new regrets. He wore the uniform of the High Guard, a deep blue tunic that had once meant order. Now it felt like a shroud. The journey was to the Citadel, the seat of the new regime, a place of marble...

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