The Faded Dust
"Don't you dare look at me like that, Elias. Not after what you've done. Not with that look in your eyes." Martha’s voice was thin, scraped raw by the cold wind that howled through the gaps in the prison’s rusted ventilation grates, a sound like dry leaves dragging across a gravel road. She stood at the heavy steel door of the visiting area, her hands clutching the strap of a canvas bag that...
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