The Faded Frontier
The rain in Chicago does not fall; it accumulates, a heavy, grey sludge that settles into the cracks of the pavement and the hollows of the city’s bones. Elias Thorne stood in the center of his living room, the air thick with the scent of ozone and wet wool, staring at the object that lay on the coffee table where his wife’s reading glasses had been moments before. It was an oak leaf, large and...
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