The Distant Temple
The brass collar bit into the nape of my neck, a cold, metallic bite that woke me before the whistle did. I adjusted the strap, feeling the weight of it settle against my spine, a second skeleton made of industrial alloy. "You’re glowing, Elias," Silas muttered from the next bench, not looking up from his wrench. He was old, his hands mapped with scars that looked like dried rivers, and he...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen