The Faded Road
The ink in the fountain pen was running out, leaving a dry, scratching trail across the page of the case file, and I watched the tip of the nib dig into the paper with a force that felt less like writing and more like gouging. I was trying to calculate the mileage from Oakhaven to the Miller farm, a stretch of two-state highway that should have taken forty minutes, but the numbers on the...
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