The Pale Meridian
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the gravel road into a slick ribbon of grey mud that wound endlessly through the hollows of the Appalachian foothills. Elias Vane sat in the passenger seat of his rusted sedan, his hands resting on his knees, watching the wipers sweep the glass in a rhythmic, futile arc. Beside him, his sister, Clara, drove with a white-knuckled grip on the...
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