The Faded Photograph
The door to the study had been locked for three years, but Elias knew it was not locked. It was waiting. He stood before the oak panel, his fingers trembling not from fear but from the sheer weight of the silence pressing against his eardrums. His father lay in the room beyond, a hollowed-out thing of bone and breath, sustained by the last of his vitality. The house, Oakhaven, did not sleep. It...
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