The Golden Circuit
The rain has not stopped for three days. It drums a relentless, hollow rhythm against the single window of the outpost, a sound that has become indistinguishable from the beating of my own heart. I sit at the desk, the wood cold beneath my palms, and I watch the water streak down the glass in long, weeping lines. Outside, the forest is a grey smear, the pines bending under the weight of the...
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