The Distant Promise
Elias Thorne’s fingers were blackened with graphite, the smudges digging into the whorls of his prints as he pressed the tip of the pencil against the edge of the crumbling stone path in his dream, trying to stop the mortar from crumbling into dust. He woke with the taste of chalk in his mouth and the cold damp of the Oakhaven archive pressing against the back of his neck, the low-frequency hum...
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