The Golden Echoes
The rain had stopped, but the air in the basement still tasted of wet concrete and old paper. I sat on a crate of unmarked files, my legs dangling over the edge, feeling the cold seep through the thin fabric of my trousers. My hands were the only thing that mattered right now. I rubbed my left thumb against my index finger, a motion so habitual it had become its own kind of language. The skin...
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