The Pale Path
The radio crackled, a dry, static hiss that sounded like sand dragging across a rusted hinge. Elias sat in the driver’s seat of the unmarked sedan, the engine ticking as it cooled in the pre-dawn chill. The windshield was a gray smear of condensation and dirt, blurring the highway into a watercolor of indeterminate shapes. He did not wipe it. He did not look at the rearview mirror. He looked at...
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