The Wistful Show
The air in the administrative office of the Northern Railway was so cold it seemed to have crystallized, settling on the frost-rimmed windows and the heavy oak desk where Major Elias Thorne stood, his knuckles white as he gripped a small, glass terrarium. Inside the glass, a single orchid, pale and trembling, was dying, its petals curling inward like a fist closing on a secret that had been...
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