The Faded Apartment
The train from the old empire had not yet fully stopped when Elias Vane stepped onto the platform of Harrowgate, the air tasting of coal dust and wet iron, a flavor that settled in his throat like a bad penny he could not swallow. He was forty years old, a man whose spine had been bent not by age but by the long, slow weight of displacement, and he carried with him a single leather satchel and...
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