The Pale Bridge
The low hum of the Pale Bridge was not a sound so much as a pressure, a tectonic vibration that Elias Thorne felt in his molars and the hollow of his chest, a frequency that had long since bypassed his ears to lodge itself in the marrow of his bones. He stood at the center of the stone span, his fifty-two-year-old body aching with the dull, persistent throb of a heart that had begun to fail in...
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