The Faded Dust
The bus shuddered as it crossed the bridge, a mechanical groan that seemed to emanate from the very bones of the vehicle. Elias Thorne sat in the back, his knees pressed together, his hands resting on his thighs with a stillness that was not peace but paralysis. He was wearing the grey uniform of the Department of Corrections, the fabric stiff with sweat and the faint, metallic tang of old...
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