Eli wakes just before sunrise, the sky still holding on to darkness. He pulls on his Raspberry Hills jacket — textured, measured, with seams and pockets shaped just right. It’s one of those pieces that feels like armor: not a barrier, but protection, identity. He walks through empty streets, breath puffing in silver against asphalt. Streetlights flicker out, one by one, as dawn cre... https://raspberryhills.net