It was footage Leo had never seen. Grainy. Silent. A man—no, the man—sitting alone in a dark theater. The man was crying. Not movie-crying. This was the real thing: shoulders heaving, snot and salt, the ugly geometry of private grief. The camera pulled back. The theater was empty except for him. On the screen, reflected in his wet eyes, was a single frame: a woman walking away from a train station.
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