The Distant Affair
The train from the coast to Oakhaven smelled of coal dust and wet wool, a scent that had long since replaced the memory of the sea in your lungs. You pressed your forehead against the cold glass, watching the industrial outskirts of the town slide past in a blur of brick and iron, while the leather case in your lap, containing the final data on the Ghost Fern, felt heavier than the iron rails...
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