The Faded Road
The rain hit the glass like gravel. Miles Vance wiped the lens. His hand trembled. Not from cold. From the weight of the thing in his pocket. A bone. Small. White. Smooth. He held it up to the light. It caught the glare. Blind. Bright. It was his left middle phalanx. Removed. Years ago. By a blade. In the dark. He looked at the window. The world outside was a smear. Gray. Wet. Silent. He was a...
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