The Golden Crossing
The frost comes first. It is a thin, white lace that spreads across the windshield, a silent invasion. You wake to the cold biting through your wool coat. The car is dead. The battery, drained by the night’s freeze, offers no spark. You sit in the dark, the engine ticking as it contracts, a dying heart. Outside, the forest presses in. The pines are black against the gray sky. The air is still....
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