The Wistful Mountain
The radio crackles, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement, and you press the earpiece tighter against your temple. You are walking the perimeter of the Ridge, a stretch of blacktop that cuts through the old pine forest, the asphalt slick with recent rain. It is late, the kind of late where the world feels held in the breath between two heartbeats. Your boots slap against the wet...
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