The Pale Meridian
The bus did not stop where it should have, but rather continued past the familiar rusted gate of the St. Jude’s Correctional Center for Juvenile Detention, winding instead along a narrow, gravel-paved road that climbed steeply into the foggy hills where the trees grew so thick and twisted they seemed to lean against one another in a state of perpetual, silent conspiracy. Julian, sitting in the...
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