The Golden Echoes
The van’s engine ticked as it cooled, a rhythmic, metallic tapping that echoed off the concrete walls of the depot. Elias sat in the driver’s seat, his hands resting on the steering wheel, fingers pale against the dark leather. He did not look at the man standing by the open rear doors. He did not need to. The presence of Marcus Thorne was a weight in the air, a pressure change that made the...
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