The Cycle of Mud
The air in the Louisiana bayou was a thick, humid soup that tasted of salt, decay, and ancient secrets. Julian sat on the porch of a rotting plantation house, watching the Spanish moss hang like grey shrouds from the cypress trees. He was a man who had returned to the mud of his ancestors, not for peace, but for a penance he could never fully pay. Julian was a private investigator, but his...
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