The bayou doesn't forgive. It swallows everything—bodies, secrets, the bones of men who thought they could conquer it.
Ellis Thorne stood at the edge of the swamp, the morning fog clinging to his legs like desperate hands. Below him, in the dark water, something moved—a turtle, maybe, or a crocodile, or the ghost of a man who had tried to cross the bayou in the wrong season. He couldn't tell. In the fog, everything looked the same. He had come here to hunt. That was what he did. He hunted alligators, deer, the...
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