The Wistful Silence
Thorne, you’re blocking the carriage door. Move. The conductor’s voice cracked like a whip in the narrow space, sharp and impatient, cutting through the low, rhythmic thrum of the train wheels. Elias Thorne did not move. He stood rigid in the aisle, his spine a straight line of steel against the jolting body of the locomotive, his eyes fixed on the heavy oak box clutched to his chest. The box...
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