The Pale Fracture
The train from the industrial heartlands arrived at the station in Oakhaven not with a screech of brakes but with a long, exhausted sigh of steam that hung in the cold November air like a ghost refusing to dissipate. Elias Thorne stood on the platform, his coat buttons straining against the bulk of the leather satchel he carried, a satchel that contained the only thing in the world that had...
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