The Golden Song
The coat had been blue once. Now it was the color of old bruises, a faded indigo that had lost its saturation to time and weather. Elias Thorne wore it like a second skin, though it no longer fit the man it had been cut for. He was a Deputy Sheriff in Harrow Creek, a town that clung to the edge of the Appalachian foothills where the fog came in thick as wool. For three years, Elias had worn the...
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