The Wistful Ashes
The train to the Capital is a steel coffin on wheels. You sit in the corner seat, your knees pressed against the cold metal partition, watching the blur of gray fields rush past. Your hands are tucked into your coat pockets, but you can feel the weight of the clearance badge in your left pocket, a heavy, cold rectangle that feels less like a tool of access and more like a shackle. You are Elias...
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