The Golden Echoes
Chapter One Hovhannes Tsiklauri was a man who had forgotten the weight of his own silence. He sat in the botanical greenhouse, the glass panes fogged with the damp breath of the Balkan coast, where the air smelled of rotting peat and old copper. The fog had stopped the boats again, sealing the plantation at probate in a gray box. It was Tuesday. The border would close on Sunday. He held a...
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