The Distant Ghost
The coat was a relic of a different era, a heavy thing of charcoal wool that had seen better days in the humid archives of the Department of Missing Persons. It sat on the back of a chair, a slumped silhouette against the stark, fluorescent hum of the stationhouse, its buttons loose, its lining frayed at the elbows where the fabric had thinned to a ghostly translucence. Elias Thorne stood...
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