The Distant Threshold
The coal smoke in the station room hung low and thick, a grey veil that clung to the velvet upholstery and settled in the creases of Elias Thorne’s face, making the shadows beneath his eyes look like bruises that had been there for decades rather than hours. He sat rigid in the leather chair, his hands resting on the armrests, fingers white-knuckled around a pair of worn leather gloves, the...
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