The Faded Road
The morning you leave, the house is already dismantling itself in your mind, peeling away layer by layer like the skin of a bruise. You stand in the hallway of the old Ashworth estate, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and the metallic tang of the coal stove that has been cold for three days, and you feel the weight of the investigation pressing against your ribs, a physical ache that...
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