The Pale Tale
The rain had turned the gravel of the driveway into a slurry of grey mud, slicking the wheels of the black sedan that sat idling behind Elias Thorne, its engine humming a low, persistent note that seemed to vibrate in the soles of his boots. He stood beneath the sagging eaves of the Victorian porch, his hand gripping the wet paper of the court order until the fibers began to fray, the document...
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