The Pale Path
The silver pocket watch sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold and heavy as a stone pulled from a riverbed, its face cracked down the center where the crystal had shattered against the cobblestones three days prior. He turned it over, his thumb tracing the hairline fracture, feeling the slight drag of the glass shards embedded in the metal casing, a tactile reminder of the violence that had stripped...
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