The Distant Ghost
The flood came at dawn. It did not arrive with the warning of thunder or the rumble of distant engines. It simply rose. The water in the city of Oakhaven did not flow; it climbed. It swallowed the cobblestones. It licked the base of the clock tower. It pressed against the glass of Elias Thorne’s shop like a living thing, hungry and cold. Elias stood on the second floor. He was a clockmaker. His...
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