The Distant Temple
The water pressure in the kitchen tap was down to a trickle, a thin, mocking stream that sputtered and died before Elias Thorne could fill the glass, and he stood there in the grey pre-dawn light, the ceramic cool against his palm, feeling the sudden, hot pressure behind his nose. He caught the blood on his thumb, bright and viscous against the pale skin, and knew with the cold certainty of a...
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