The Golden Myth
The rain had not stopped in three days. It drummed against the slate roof of the observation deck with a rhythmic, relentless persistence that seemed to match the beating of Commander Elias Thorne’s heart. He stood by the reinforced glass, his reflection a pale, hollow ghost superimposed over the churning gray water of the harbor below. The air inside the tower was cold, smelling of wet wool...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 3 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση