## The Violet Hour The chipped ceramic mug warmed Leo Maxwell’s palms. Rain lashed against the skylight of his workshop, a relentless drumming that mirrored the static in his head. He didn’t bother looking at the coffee; it tasted like…
## Klawed Gardens The chipped rim of the teacup felt cool against Elara’s thumb. Not a hairline fracture, exactly. More like a starburst of stress, radiating from an old repair. She turned it slowly in the light filtering through the…
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…