The Faded Root
The truck smelled of diesel and wet wool. It rumbled down the gravel road, shaking the teeth in Marcus’s jaw. He sat in the front. The passenger seat was empty. The driver, a man named Halloway, did not look back. Halloway was thick. His hands gripped the wheel. His knuckles were white. The road ended at the gate. The gate was rusted. It stood open. A mist hung low over the field. The field was...
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