The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-17 23:26:27 -

The Wistful Petal

The mud in Harrow’s Creek was black and slick, like oil on water. Sergeant Elias Thorne walked it. His boots sank with a wet, sucking sound that echoed off the stone walls. He was not lost. He was not hiding. He was simply walking. The rain fell in thin, cold needles. It stung his face. It soaped his hair. He did not wipe it away. He kept his eyes on the ground. On the path. On the next step....

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