The Pale Tale
The train to Leeds arrived at dawn. Elias Thorne stepped off onto the platform, his suitcase heavy with the weight of years. It was a gray morning, the kind that made the steel of the tracks look like wet iron. He wore a suit that had been tailored for a man who had not yet learned to shrink. The fabric was dark, unremarkable, but the lining was fraying at the elbows. He adjusted his tie. He...
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