The Wistful Petal
The bus stopped with a shudder that felt less like mechanical friction and more like a bone breaking in the dark. Margot stepped off the gravel shoulder, her heels sinking into the wet earth of the town that had no name on the map, only a pin of gray smoke rising from the center. She carried a suitcase that was too light, empty of anything that mattered, and a jaw that was set tight enough to...
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