The Pale Bonsai
The house did not burn; it exhaled, a long, shuddering breath of black smoke that curled into the grey, rain-swept sky like a ghost trying to remember its own name, and in that moment, Elias Thorne, standing in the mud-slicked courtyard with his magnifying glass still clutched in a hand that trembled not from cold but from the sudden, violent realization that he had been the fool in the...
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