The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-25 02:49:59 -

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip the radio handset, the plastic cold and slick against my palms as I stared into the gray wall of pine needles. The mist wasn't just fog; it was a substance, heavy and wet, pressing against my face like a damp cloth, stealing the heat from my skin with every breath I took. I had been walking for three hours, my boots sinking into the soft,...

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