The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-22 15:05:15 -

March 14 The rain has not stopped for three days. It drums against the high, narrow windows of the customs warehouse, a relentless, hollow percussion that seems to vibrate in my teeth. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I have spent the last six hours staring at a single, wooden crate. It is small, no larger than a breadbox, stained with the damp of the harbor and the grime of a...

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