The Pale Bonsai
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it was deposited, a cold, grey slurry that slicked the pavement outside the municipal annex and turned the world into a smear of wet asphalt and dying leaves. Elias Thorne stood under the narrow overhang of the entrance, his breath pluming in the chill, his hands wrapped tightly around the terracotta pot of the bonsai he had spent the last three...
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