The Faded River

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2026-08-19 10:12:40 -

The Faded River

The bus smelled of wet wool and diesel. It was a smell that clung to the back of the throat. Margaret sat by the window. Rain blurred the glass. She watched the trees slide by. Black oaks. Bare. Like bones. She was going to the institute. The Hall of Truth. A place of glass and steel. A place where justice lived in servers. Her hands were still. She had been still for years. Stillness was her...

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