The Golden Song
The rain in Oakhaven does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime slicker. You stand in the doorway of the university archive, the mud from the coastal road caked into the heels of your boots, and you watch the steam rise from the streetlamps as if the town is trying to exhale. Inside, the silence is heavy, pressurized, a physical weight against your eardrums. You are Elias Thorne,...
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