The Wistful Voyage
The rain had turned the gravel of the parking lot into a slurry of grey mud, sucking at the tires of the squad car with a wet, reluctant sound that seemed to mimic the heavy, dragging weight in Elias Thorne’s chest. He sat in the driver’s seat, hands resting on the wheel, knuckles white, watching the fog roll off the reservoir and creep up the hillside toward the town of Oakhaven, a place that...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare