PREVIEW
... ot purpose. Not meaning. Just an arrow—something to follow when thinking became dangerous. North. Safe zone. Evacuation route. Forward.
That morning, the arrows failed.
They found them carved into stone, painted on roads, embedded in cracked digital displays still glowing weakly under solar film. Every one of them pointed somewhere different.
Inland. Coastal. Up the ridge. Down into the ruins.
All certain. All authoritative.
None agreeing.
The man ...
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