The Wistful Asylum
The road to Oakhaven was a ribbon of cracked asphalt that wound through the dense, unyielding woods of the Pacific Northwest. Elias Thorne, a tenured historian whose reputation rested on the meticulous dissection of the past, gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. He was forty-two, a man of precise habits and cold logic, driving toward a town that had not spoken to him in ten years. In...
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