The Faded Dust
The iron gate of St. Jude’s Academy for the Gifted did not creak, nor did it groan under the weight of the autumn rain that slicked the cobblestones into a mirror of gray mud. It stood open, silent and absolute, a black mouth swallowing the light before it could reach the courtyard where Elias Thorne walked with his head bowed so low that his nose nearly touched the cold, damp wool of his...
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