The Wistful Crossroads
The crate was too heavy for one man, but the order was clear. "Burn it all," Major Halloway had said, his voice flat as the linoleum floor of his office, the smell of stale coffee and wet wool hanging thick in the air. "It’s illegal waste. A hazard to the public." I had looked at the map on his desk, the red circle around the Oakhaven grove, and I had seen the error before I could speak. It...
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