The Faded Road
The gate of the Larkspur Asylum groaned under the weight of rust, a sound that cut through the humid air like a bone snapping. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hand resting on the cold iron, feeling the vibration travel up his arm and into his chest. He was forty-five, a man carved from the same weathered granite as the institution behind him, and he had one specific, concrete task: to secure...
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