The Wistful Voyage
The rain lashed against the single pane of glass in Elias Vane’s room, a rhythmic, insistent tapping that sounded like fingernails on a coffin lid. He sat at the desk, the wood scarred with the ghost of old ink stains, and stared at the rejection letter from Whitmore & Sterling Insurance. It was a thin slip of paper, cream-colored, smelling faintly of the office’s stale pipe tobacco and cold...
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