The Golden Echoes
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the corrugated tin roof of the station house, a relentless, hollow rhythm that matched the thudding in my chest. I stood by the window, watching the mud slide down the hillside, turning the world outside into a smear of brown and gray. The air smelled of wet wool and old coffee, the scent of a place that had forgotten how to breathe....
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