The Pale Verdict
The frost came early. It crept across the glass. It ate the light. Silas stood by the window. His hands shook. Not from cold. From memory. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The silence had weight. It pressed against his eardrums. It pressed against his chest. He looked at the garden. The oak tree stood there. It had always stood there. Since before he was born. Since before his father was born....
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