The Distant Nightmare
The rain had turned the gravel of the access road into a slurry of grey mud, a viscous substance that clung to the tires of the truck with a stubbornness that felt personal, almost accusatory, as I watched my mentor, Silas Vane, walk away from the vehicle without looking back. He did not say goodbye, which was consistent with his entire existence, a man who had spent forty years dissecting the...
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