The Golden Greenhouse
The glass of the Golden Greenhouse did not shatter with a sound like breaking, but with a sigh, a long, exhalative groan of displaced air that seemed to pull the warmth from the fog-bound streets of Oakhaven and drag it into the fractured panes, where it settled as a persistent, localized heat that hummed against the skin of anyone who dared to approach. I, Elias Thorne, forty-two years old and...
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