The Golden Greenhouse
The rain did not fall; it hovered, a suspended gray mist that tasted of iron and old pennies. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the town square, his hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of a rusted letter opener, his knuckles white against the dull metal. Across from him, Mayor Silas Vane leaned against the wet brick of the bakery, adjusting the cuffs of his silk shirt with the casual...
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