The Golden Crossing
The morning light did not break over the city so much as it bled into it, a slow, viscous hemorrhage of pale gold that seeped through the cracked shutters of the university library and pooled on the floorboards where Elias Thorne sat hunched over a stack of decaying manuscripts, his fingers stained with the ink of a past that refused to stay in the past. He was a man who had spent forty years...
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