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He walked the streets that were both familiar and strangely new, asking small questions—stopping barmaids with flour on their sleeves, fishermen near nets—until a name surfaced like a fish. Thomas Brier had left, claimed he would be back, and then drifted in the way men do when promises feel too heavy. He had been seen boarding a coal packet at dusk; after that—nothing. Folks nudged each other and said nothing more than the basics. They spoke of departures as if they were weather.

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