The Distant Legend
The window was cracked. Just a sliver. Enough for the cold to bite. Leo sat on the edge of the bed. He was twelve. He held a piece of chalk. It was white. It was soft. He drew a line on the floor. Then another. He was mapping the room. The room was small. It was gray. The wallpaper was peeling. He looked at the door. It was locked. "Leo," a voice said. It was Mr. Thorne. He stood in the...
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