The Golden Scar
The wind in the valley did not howl so much as it hummed, a low, electric vibration that traveled up through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots and settled into the marrow of his bones, a constant, subsonic reminder of the machinery that kept the town of Oakhaven alive. He stood on the ridge, his hands clasped behind his back, the leather of his gloves creaking softly against the damp air,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews