The Pale Echo
The fire started at dawn. It took the old mill. It took the clock tower. It took the place where your father had stood for forty years, watching the river, waiting for something that never came. You are standing in the ash now. The air is thick. It tastes of copper and old wood. You are a detective. You are the man who investigates. You are the man who finds the truth. Or so you tell yourself....
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