The Faded Road
It started, as these things often do, in a dream where the walls were made of wet plaster and the floor was a pool of stagnant, oily water that reflected a ceiling which did not exist. In that dream, Gerald stood in the center of the grand atrium of the Meridian Group headquarters, a place of polished marble and hushed, predatory silence, and he held in his hands a small, square piece of white...
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