The Golden Greenhouse
The rain had been falling on the slate roof of the Sterling Industrial Museum for three days, a persistent, rhythmic drumming that Elias Thorne had long since stopped hearing, replaced as it was by the Green Hum, a low-frequency vibration that seemed to originate not from the air but from the marrow of his own bones. It was a sound like a cello string bowed too hard, a wet, resonant thrum that...
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