The Distant Summer
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey weeping that turned the cobblestones of Oakhaven into slick, black mirrors reflecting the gas lamps’ sickly yellow glow. Silas Thorne walked with the heavy, deliberate pace of a man who had long since stopped running, his boots striking a rhythmic thud against the wet stone, a sound that seemed to echo in the hollows of his own chest....
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