The Wistful Letter
The rain hits the tin roof of the station house like a handful of gravel thrown by an angry god, and you are awake before the thought of waking can fully form in your mind. This is not sleep; it is a suspended animation, a holding pattern in the grey void of the industrial dawn. You are Sergeant Elias Thorne, and you are standing in the center of the main hall of Blackwood Station, a structure...
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