The Faded Apartment
The first thing that was wrong with the silence was that it tasted of copper and old pennies, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat as he sat on the edge of the unmade bed in the hotel room, his hands trembling so violently that the glass of water he had poured minutes ago had shattered against the carpet, sending shards of ice and liquid into the dark fibers where no...
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