The Faded Ruin
The train to the Northern Reclamation Zone cut through the grey morning with a metallic groan, its wheels grinding against the steel tracks in a rhythm that matched the erratic fluttering of Elias Thorne’s left hand. At fifty-two, Elias was a Compliance Officer of the Bureau of Aesthetic Uniformity, a title that had once carried weight and now felt like a lead shroud draped over his shoulders....
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