The Faded Road
The mud began on a Tuesday, seeping up through the cracked asphalt of the King’s Highway with a slow, wet determination that I could feel in the soles of my boots before I saw it. I am Elias Thorne, and for twenty-two years I have kept the toll at Mile Marker Four, a post so isolated that the only sound is the wind whistling through the bare oaks and the occasional groan of the old stone...
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