The Distant Whispers
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the old administrative quarter into a slick, dark mirror that reflected the gray sky with a fidelity that felt almost accusatory. Elias Thorne sat in his office, a room that had once been the center of the district’s bureaucratic heart, now stripped of its mahogany polish and choked with the damp, rotting scent of wet paper...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen