The Wistful Show
The brass key in Elara Vane’s hand was cold enough to burn, its weight a tangible accusation against the damp air of the Oakhaven station. She held it until her knuckles whitened, staring at the metal until it seemed to blur into a single, jagged line, before she finally turned and stepped onto the platform, leaving the train and the life that had just been publicly dissected by Mr. Sterling’s...
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