The Pale Verdict
We drove the wagon up the hill in the gray hour before dawn, the iron wheels groaning against the packed dirt like old men complaining about their joints, and I kept my eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, which was cracked down the center, splitting the world behind us into two lopsided halves that never quite matched up. My name is Silas, and I am not what you think, though I suppose you have...
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