The Pale Garden
The demolition crew’s list was precise: three hours to clear the east wing, forty minutes to strip the floorboards, and one final sweep for structural hazards before the wreckers arrived at dawn. You had counted the minutes since you woke, the numbers ticking like a metronome in your skull, each beat a small, sharp pain behind your eyes. You were Elias, twelve years old, and you were the last...
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