The Golden Echoes
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a sound like a bone snapping in the dark. It was a quiet, structural failure, the kind that precedes the collapse of old things. In the industrial sprawl of Harrowgate, where the air tasted of iron filings and wet ash, the night air had turned brittle. Elias, a boy of fourteen with eyes that held the weight of the world’s soot, sat on the...
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