The Golden Greenhouse
The iron gates of the Ashworth Estate did not creak, which was a detail that unsettled Elias more than the rust that webbed the hinges of the outer perimeter; the silence was too deliberate, too engineered, as if the air itself had been scrubbed of its history and left in a state of pristine, cold vacuum. He walked the gravel path, the sound of his boots a sharp, rhythmic percussion against the...
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