The Pale Bonsai
The ledger held forty-two years of service, each line item a precise accounting of time traded for currency. Elias Thorne counted the entries in his head as the train shuddered to a halt, the metal groaning under a weight that had nothing to do with passengers. He needed to reach the Kestrel Depot by noon to file the final pension claim before the fiscal year closed, a deadline that carried the...
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