The Faded Apartment
Thorne, you look like a man who’s been eating his own teeth. Halloway’s voice was thin, stretched over the wind that whistled through the cracks in the watchtower’s stone. I sat on the cold floor, my hands wrapped around the brass compass, the metal so warm it felt alive. The needle spun, a frantic, tick-tock-tock vibration against my palm, a sound like a small animal trapped in a clock....
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