>>5960924>>5961006In the dim light of the train's lanterns, Clay's fingers felt around the unused portions of the train, the dark rooms that seemed unoccupied, the desks, the cubby holes, until those fingers closed around the slender, metallic instruments of a lockpick set, its pieces forged with an artisan's care and a thief's cunning. He weighed the set in his hand, a small smile breaking through his otherwise stony demeanor. To him, this was a big score. "Never know when you'll need to get through a locked door or two," he mused, tucking the set into his coat pocket.
As the train rattled on, swaying with the rhythm of secrets and silent promises, Clay found himself drawn to an older gentleman, isolated in his thoughts, staring out the window at the blurring landscape. The man's hands, rough and calloused from years of labor, betrayed his acquaintance with the hard guts of machines more than the soft flesh of women.
Clay took the seat opposite him, the train's steady clank and whistle filling the space between their words. "They say men like you know these beasts better than anyone," Clay ventured, nodding toward the window, beyond which lay the heart of the steel serpent they rode.
The man turned, his eyes a mix of wariness and wisdom, having seen too many suns rise and fall in the vast, unforgiving expanse of High Noon. "And who's 'they'? Ghosts of the rails?" he replied, a half-smile beneath his grizzled beard betraying his amusement.
"Could be," Clay answered, leaning back. "But ghosts don't have much use for what I'm seekin'. Name's Clay Bunyin. I've got a feeling this ride's got more twists than just the tracks it runs on."
The engineer's gaze softened, a recognition kindling in his eyes. "Elijah," he offered his hand, which Clay shook firmly. "Elijah Crane. And you're right about the twists, Mr. Bunyin. This train... she's more than steel and steam. Seen things that'd turn your hair white."
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