The Wistful Witness
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the highway and turned the pine forests of the Pacific Northwest into a smudge of charcoal and bruise-purple. Elias Thorne sat in the driver’s seat of his rusted sedan, his hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, watching the wipers beat a rhythmic, futile measure against the glass. He was a man...
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