The Golden Crossing
The train that carried Elias Thorne out of the city did not so much arrive as it seeped into the station, a long, metallic exhale of steam and diesel that seemed to swallow the morning light whole, and as he stepped onto the platform, his boots sinking into the gravel that had been trampled flat by generations of anxious feet, he felt the weight of the border not as a line on a map but as a...
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