The Faded Paradox
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the roads leading to the Abbey of St. Jude into sucking mud, and Elias Thorne drove his truck through the slurry with a grim determination that felt less like hope and more like a funeral procession. He was fifty-two, a man whose hands had once carved stone with the precision of a surgeon but now trembled with a...
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