The Distant Ghost
Elias Thorne held the rusted hinge in his palm, turning it over until the cold bit into the calluses of his thumb. It was a small, heavy thing, pulled from the doorframe of his childhood home, and it weighed more than the box of ammunition he had just packed into the duffel bag. Outside, the light was failing, the sun dropping below the ridge line and leaving the kitchen in a blue, stagnant...
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