The Faded Road
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray veil that turned the world outside the window of the safehouse into a watercolor smear of indistinct shapes and muted tones. Inside, the air was still and thick, smelling of stale coffee and the metallic tang of old paper, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a bad memory. Elias Thorne sat at the center of the small,...
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