The Wistful Ashes
The rain had not stopped for forty days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the asphalt of the highway into a slick, black mirror reflecting the dead trees of the pine forest. Elias sat in the driver’s seat of his truck, the engine idling with a low, rhythmic thrum that he felt more in his teeth than in his ears, staring at the rearview mirror where the face of a woman who was not quite there...
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