The Faded Sutra
The mist in the valley did not lift so much as it surrendered, a slow, reluctant exhalation that revealed the jagged teeth of the cliffs where the ancient seat of the Holloway clan stood like a bruised bone against the pale morning sky. Silas stood on the highest balcony, his hands gripping the cold iron railing until the knuckles turned the color of old ash, watching the fog roll off the water...
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