The Distant Summer
The rain tapped against the glass like a finger testing for a pulse. Elias stood by the window, his reflection a ghost in the darkened room. He watched the water bead and slide, tracing the path of a vein on his own hand. It was a good hand. Steady. Precise. A hand that had carved oak into thrones and walnut into cabinets that held the secrets of three generations. Now, it trembled. Just...
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