The Faded Portrait
The bus groaned up the steep grade of Millstone Hill, its engine whining a high, thin note that seemed to cut through the damp November air. Elias sat by the window, his forehead resting against the cold glass, watching the gray fields blur past. He was not a man who liked to be seen, and the small town of Oakhaven, with its sharp edges and sharper tongues, offered little comfort to those who...
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