The Pale Path

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2026-08-22 18:05:20 -

The Pale Path

The mud in the courtyard of St. Jude’s was not wet but frozen, a black crust that cracked under the weight of my boots. I coughed, a wet, rattling sound that seemed to shake the very ribs of my body, and tasted the iron tang of blood on my tongue. I was forty-two years old, and my lungs were failing me, but the ledger in my coat was heavier than the sickness. It contained the truth of the last...

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