The Faded Masquerade
The train pulled away from the station in a low, mournful groan, carrying with it the last of the autumn light and the distinct, metallic scent of the city’s decay, which had clung to Elias Thorne’s coat for the three days since his release. He was not a man accustomed to the open road, nor to the freedom that accompanied it, for he had spent the better part of the last five years within the...
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