The Distant Metropolis
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it settled, a persistent gray mist that clung to the wool of coats and the rusted hinges of the porch doors. It was the kind of weather that made the town feel less like a place on a map and more like a memory slowly losing its edges. In the center of this damp quiet stood Elias Thorne, a man whose age was difficult to pin down, though his hands,...
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