The Golden Echoes
The light in the hallway was the color of old dishwater, thin and sickly, filtering through the grime on the single pane of glass that still remained in the front door. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the room, his hands gripping the back of a chair until his knuckles turned white, listening to the floorboards settle under the weight of a silence that felt heavier than the air outside. He...
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