The Distant Threshold
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray veil that turned the streets of Oakhaven into slick, dark mirrors reflecting the sickly amber glow of the streetlamps. I stood at the edge of the precipice, my boots planted firmly in the wet grass, my hand resting on the cold iron of the railing that separated the park from the churning river below. The wind was a physical...
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