The Faded Apartment
The paint on the hallway wall was peeling in long, dry strips, like dead skin sloughing off a body that had forgotten how to hold itself together, and Elias Thorne stood in the center of the room with a can of cheap enamel in one hand and a roller that felt too heavy for his wrist in the other, staring at the chipped baseboard where the wood had turned gray and brittle from years of damp. He...
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