The Distant Clue
The iron rail of the train window vibrated against Elias Thorne’s knuckles, a cold, rhythmic shudder that mirrored the tremor in his hands, which were cracked and bleeding from the labor of hauling his own meager luggage. It was November of 1893, and the air in the drafty car was thin enough to taste, carrying the scent of coal smoke and damp wool that clung to the fabric of his worn coat. He...
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