The Golden Cellar
The rain did not fall so much as it dissolved against the high, industrial windows of the St. Jude’s Athletic Institute, blurring the world outside into a smear of grey and green. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale sweat, pine oil, and the metallic tang of old iron. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the training floor, his back to the mirror, listening to the rhythmic,...
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