The Faded Photograph
"You've got to get out of here, Elias. Before the morning light hits the glass." Elias stared at his brother, Thomas, whose face was a map of recent bruises and older scars, the kind that never fully fade but settle into the skin like sediment in a river. They stood in the center of the living room of the old Whitmore house, a place that had once smelled of beeswax and pipe tobacco but now...
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