Top — Yasmina Khan Brady

The last place on the list was the train station bench. It was an overcast afternoon when Yasmina sat there, the tin box heavy in her lap. As the sun dipped, the platform lights buzzed. A young man with a satchel and a flash of impatience waited for the evening express. He glanced at Yasmina and smiled with the kind of easy certainty that read as belonging somewhere else. “You look like you’re hunting for ghosts,” he said.

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