The rain hammered the redwood cliffs, a relentless percussion against the grey sea. Steam curled from the copper tubs overflowing with fragrant herbs and bruised berries at Blackwood Springs. Inside, Silas traced circles on the condensation-slicked glass with a calloused…
The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold beneath Fi’s elbows. Steam rose from her coffee, blurring the fluorescent lights above. She watched the rain smear the city outside, mirroring the gray cloud hanging over Leo. “You look like…
The grit of the Dustlands tasted like regret. Elara spat, the particles clinging to her tongue. Thirteen summers she’d spent inhaling it, watching the sun bleach the color from everything. Even hope felt faded. She traced the chipped ceramic of…