The Distant Affair
The snow on the mountain pass did not fall; it hung, suspended in the grey air like ash from a fire that had long since died. You sat in the back of the black SUV, the leather seat cold against your spine, watching the white void swallow the road ahead. Your hands were folded in your lap, fingers interlaced so tightly the knuckles had gone the color of old bone. You were a man of the law, or so...
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