The Faded Sutra
The train did not slow as it approached the terminus. It simply arrived, a heavy, iron exhale that shook the dust from the high beams of the station. Elias Vane stepped onto the platform, his suitcase cutting into his hip, the leather worn soft and dark by decades of carrying. He was not a young man, nor was he old, but he existed in the grey, suspended moment between the two, where time feels...
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