The Distant Metropolis
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hovered, a persistent, gray mist that settled into the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat and the silver of his hands. He stood in the center of the square, the wet cobblestones slick beneath his boots, clutching the small, cold weight of his sister Clara’s locket against his chest. It was a Tuesday, the kind of day that felt stretched thin, devoid of...
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