The Faded River
The light in the holding cell was the color of old rust, casting long, jagged shadows that seemed to stretch and contract with the rhythm of Elias’s breathing. He stood with his back against the cold iron bars, watching Sheriff Miller pace the small room, the man’s hands trembling at his sides, fingers twitching as if plucking invisible strings. "Let him go, Miller." Elias’s voice was low, a...
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