The Golden Oath
The rain on the windshield sounded like static, a low, persistent hiss that filled the cab of the sedan. Elias Thorne wiped the glass with a rag that had long since lost its ability to absorb water, only smearing the gray of Oakhaven into a thicker paste. "You’re late, Elias." The voice in the rear seat was dry, cracked, like paper being torn. Silas sat in the back, his knees drawn up, a...
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