The Wistful Throne
The truck idled in the driveway, its engine humming a low, restless note that vibrated through the soles of Martin’s boots. It was a Tuesday, the kind of gray, flat day that seemed to suck the color out of the maples in the yard, leaving them as just rough textures against the sky. Martin stood by the open door, his hand resting on the steering wheel, looking not at the road ahead but at the...
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