The Wistful Incense
The bus groaned against the gravel shoulder, a mechanical beast of rust and diesel fumes, before silence reclaimed the valley. Elias Thorne stepped out, his knees popping in protest, the air thin and sharp against his lungs. He was not a man built for the wilderness, but a creature of spreadsheets and fluorescent hums, a middle-tier analyst for a logistics firm that moved nothing but data from...
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