The Pale Circus
"Put the gun down, Elias." I didn’t. My hand was shaking so hard the barrel rattled against my knuckles. I was forty-two years old, and I had walked for three days to say this one thing. The road to Oakhaven was a mud pit, sucking at my boots with every step. The mud was thick, brown, and cold. It weighed on my legs like wet sand. I had carried a warrant in my breast pocket for three years. I...
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