The Wistful Crossroads
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a gray, suspended fog that turned the world into a watercolor left too long in the wash. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the town’s only gas station, his boots soaking through the thin soles, watching the wiper of a rusted sedan sweep back and forth in a rhythmic, mechanical trance. He was waiting for a car that the dispatch radio...
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