The Distant Clue
The bell of St. Jude’s tolled not for a saint, but for a fracture. It was a sound that split the air of the valley, a jagged crack in the fabric of the morning. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the wheat field, the stalks golden and heavy, bowing under the weight of a sun that felt too hot, too immediate. He did not look up. He looked down at his hands. They were stained with the red of the...
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