The Wistful Skyline
The brass key hung heavy in Elias Thorne’s palm, its weight a familiar anchor against the hollow ache in his chest. It was a simple thing, tarnished by decades of handling and the salt air of the coast, but then it held the entire legacy of his father, a man who had spent thirty years restoring the crumbling walls of St. Jude’s. Elias stood before the heavy oak doors of the monastery, the wind...
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