The Faded Portrait
The hand of the man in the grey wool coat gripped the iron railing of the freight car, his knuckles white against the rusted metal as the train shuddered into the station, the wheels screaming a high, metallic protest against the rails that had not been greased in months. Elias Thorne, forty-two years old and carrying the weight of a reputation that had crumbled like dry plaster, stepped down...
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