The Burning
The air stung my throat, thick with smoke and the bitter tang of gunpowder, making my eyes water.
New Haven’s walls loomed in front of us, but they weren’t the sanctuary I’d imagined. From a distance, it looked like salvation—rusted and battered, sure—but still standing. Still there. But as we got closer, the cracks started to show. The walls, once tall and imposing, were now riddled with bullet holes, blackened by fire, and the gate hung awkwardly from its hinges. The place was crumbling, barely holding on.
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