The Pale Bridge
The iron key bit into Elias’s palm, cold enough to burn, a sensation that had no business existing on a day when the sun hung low and yellow over the slabs of Oakhaven. He stood on the rusted iron bridge, the metal groaning under the weight of a passing delivery truck, and looked down at the water churning black beneath the planks. In his other hand, he held a crumpled notice from the bank, the...
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