The Pale Echo
The air in the community hall smelled of stale coffee and the damp, metallic scent of wet wool, a pungent mixture that clung to the back of the throat and refused to dissipate even as the last of the guests trickled out into the November rain. Julian stood by the heavy oak table, his hands gripping the edge until his knuckles turned the color of old bone, watching the door swing shut on the...
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