The Distant Clue
The coffee pot held exactly four cups, and you counted the beans, one by one, into the paper filter, trying to keep the rhythm of your breathing steady. You had been awake for six hours, but the dream was still wet on your skin, the cold of the snow and the heavy, silent weight of the black dog watching you from the treeline. You were forty-two years old, and your hands shook as you tied the...
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