The Distant Crown
The air in the sub-basement of the Sterling & Vance Archives did not smell of dust, but of ozone and old, dried blood. It was a scent that clung to the back of the throat, a metallic taste that Julian Ashworth could not scrub away with water or time. He stood before the vault door, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the years he had spent waiting for...
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