The Golden Echoes
The air in the basement of St. Jude’s Orphanage tasted of damp wool and old rust. Elara Vance sat on a cold concrete step, her fingers tracing the intricate, fractal patterns of a spiderweb that had spun itself across the mouth of a drainage pipe. She was twenty-three, though the hollows beneath her cheekbones and the premature gray threads in her hair suggested a life much longer and harder...
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