The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-23 07:23:02 -

The Pale Bridge

The mortar was cold. I mixed it again, the trowel scraping against the wet sand, the sound sharp and rhythmic in the damp air. The eastern arch of the bridge gaped open like a broken jaw. I pressed my thumb against the seam where the keystone should have been. It was loose. I knew the weight of stone, the precise angle of tension that held a span together across the River Oak. This was not...

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