The Pale Garden
The white ash fell in the dream, thick and silent, coating the world in a layer of bone. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of chalk on his tongue, his heart hammering against the ribs of his uniform. He was thirty-four, a corrections officer with twelve years of service, and he had only one shift left before the pension checks began. It was a small victory, a way out of the gray rot of Blackwood...
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