The Faded River
The door was locked from the inside, a fact that Elias had noted with a calm, detached precision, as one notes the time on a clock or the barometer reading before a storm. He sat in the center of the small, windowless room, his hands resting on his knees, fingers interlaced, the skin dry and papery as old parchment. Across from him, in a chair that seemed to have been carved from the same dark,...
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