The Faded River
The glass in the archive window did not reflect the room. It showed a river of blood, black trees clawing at a sky that had no sun. You stared at it, your breath fogging the cold pane, while Director Vance stood behind you, his shadow stretching long and thin across the floorboards. He did not look at the glass. He looked at you, his eyes flat and hungry, the way a man looks at a meal he has...
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