The Golden Myth
The train had stopped for forty minutes, and the silence in the carriage was heavy with the smell of damp wool and stale coffee. Elias Thorne looked at his watch, a cheap digital thing he’d bought at the station kiosk, and wondered if he was already late for the life he was trying to buy. He was thirty-four, a former diplomat with a passport full of stamps from places that no longer existed,...
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