The Distant Ghost
Thorne. The name was not a summons but a verdict, spoken by Foreman Halloway with the flat, dry cadence of a man reading a shipping manifest. Elias Thorne stood on the linoleum floor of the station office, the surface cold and waxy beneath his boots, and watched the foreman’s finger tap the desk. The air in the room was thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and the stale, metallic scent of the...
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