The Pale Verdict
The bread was stale, but it was there. Elara sat in the back of the delivery van, her knees drawn up to her chest, the metal floor cold through the thin fabric of her trousers. The truck rattled over a pothole, a sharp jolt that traveled up her spine and settled in her teeth. She held the loaf in her hands, turning it slowly, feeling the dryness of the crust, the way it crumbled slightly under...
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