The Faded River
The stone of St. Jude’s did not weep, nor did it crumble, but it stood with the absolute, unyielding permanence of a verdict that had long since passed. Elias Thorne pressed his palm against the cold masonry, feeling the rough grit of centuries beneath his skin, a texture that mirrored the coarse weave of his own soul. He was leaving the city, or rather, the city was expelling him, and the...
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