The Echo of Emptiness
The wind in the Midwest didn't blow; it scraped. It scraped against the rusted siding of the farmhouse and the tired skin of Silas's face. He had returned to Oakhaven with a set of skills that made him a god among men in a fight, but in the silence of the cornfields, those skills felt like a heavy, useless coat. His father lay in the bedroom, his breath a ragged whistle. Silas spent his days...
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