The Distant Summer
The furnace in the basement of the Whitmore estate groaned, a low, tectonic shudder that traveled up through the floorboards and into the soles of Elias’s shoes, a vibration that felt less like heat and more like the house itself was trying to digest something indigestible. It was a cold Tuesday in November, the kind of day where the sky hangs low and gray over the industrial district, a heavy...
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