The Pale Bridge
The seal on the parchment was red wax, heavy and cold in Elias’s hand, weighing exactly four ounces. He counted the steps down the stairwell, thirty-two in total, matching his age, a grim coincidence he noted only because the silence of the tower was too loud otherwise. Outside, the sky was the color of wet ash, and the Pale Bridge stretched across the chasm like a bone snapped in two. The...
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