The Wistful Voyage
The bus lurches, a mechanical shudder that travels up through the soles of your shoes, and you press your forehead against the cool, condensation-slicked glass. Outside, the town of Harrow Creek blurs into a smear of grey slate and damp green. It is late autumn, the air thick with the scent of rotting leaves and woodsmoke, a perfume that clings to your clothes like a second skin. You are twelve...
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