The Pale Bridge
The letter lay on the desk, the ink still wet and smelling of iron. Elias Thorne picked it up, the paper slick under his thumb, and read the directive from Director Vane: the Pale Bridge was to be surveyed by dawn. The bridge was not a physical structure. It was a spectral span that appeared only where human grief was unacknowledged, a boundary line drawn in the mist of the valley. Elias had...
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