The Faded Dust
The shovel bit into the earth with a dull, wet crunch, and Elias Thorne’s grip slipped, the handle spinning violently in his trembling fingers. He was fifty-four, a retired sheriff, and he wanted to clear the final acre of his ancestral home before the autumn frost set in, but his hands betrayed him, shaking with a rhythm that mocked his desire for total control. The wind off the ridge carried...
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