The Wistful Incense
The train hissed into the depot, a long, metallic exhale that scattered the morning mist. Elias Thorne stepped off the platform, his leather case clicking against his hip. It was a heavy sound. It was the sound of a spine being tested. He had served the Bureau for twenty years. Twenty years of tracking leaks, auditing silence, and measuring the precise weight of a lie. Now, he carried his own...
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