The Golden Greenhouse

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2026-08-20 11:33:27 -

The rain fell in sheets, gray and relentless, washing the rust off the iron rails of the line. We were three days out from the city, where the air tasted of coal smoke and ambition. Here, the air tasted of wet pine and old blood. I was driving the cart. My hands, raw and cracked, gripped the reins. Beside me sat Elias. He did not look at the road. He looked only at the crate in the back. The...

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