A Losing Hand
Twenty-five years after a conviction, a quiet drive across the plains becomes a reckoning between two men—one who served the time, and one who’s still haunted by it.
The prison gates opened slowly, without sound. No clang, no warning bell, just the quiet roll of steel parting from steel. A guard stepped aside and gave a small nod, more reflex than gesture, already turning back before the man had cleared the threshold. Earl stepped out carrying a canvas duffel that sagged near the seams. He paused, taking in the sky with a look that wasn’t awe or relief, just recognition. The light had...
