The Pale Meridian
"Do you think it hurts?" The question hung in the air, sharp as a shard of glass. It was a small thing, a boy’s inquiry, but it cut through the humid silence of the hospital room with surgical precision. Leo did not look up from the window. He was twelve. He was thin. His shirt clung to his ribs like a second skin, damp with sweat that never seemed to dry. He watched the city below. It was a...
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