The Faded Road
The ink on the ledger page was still wet, a dark smear that refused to dry, and Elias held the book with hands that trembled not from the cold but from the weight of the paper itself. He sat in the high-backed chair by the window, the rain hammering against the glass with a rhythmic, percussive violence that shook the dust from the ceiling beams. The creek outside had risen three feet in the...
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