The Distant Summer
The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in; it seeped up from the earth, a damp, grey breath that tasted of wet stone and old copper. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the ancient stone path, his uniform crisp against the miasma, his eyes fixed on the figure that had no business existing in the damp morning light. "You are trespassing on municipal property," Elias said, his voice steady, cutting...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen