The Faded Road
I look back now from the cold concrete of the bay, where the light is thin and grey, and I remember the weight of the air before it broke. I was forty-two when the Faded Road first showed itself, a spectral path that ate my name with every step I took. I wanted my pension. I wanted proof that I had never missed a shift in twenty years of welding the orbital docks. What stood against him was not...
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