The Journal
In his other hand, the man clutched a battered leather-bound notebook. Frost clung to its edges, but he held it tightly, like it was the only thing keeping him alive. With weak fingers, he pressed it against Thomas’s chest. “Read it,” he whispered. Thomas hesitated, but the urgency in the man’s eyes left no choice. Slowly, he opened it, pages stuck together with moisture and ice, the writing cramped but still legible.
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