The Golden Oath
The rain in Seattle did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray mist that clung to the skin and settled into the pores. Elias Thorne stood on the corner of Fourth Avenue, watching the water bead on the leather of his satchel. Inside the satchel lay the Object: a small, brass mechanism no larger than a pocket watch, yet heavy with a gravity that seemed to pull at the air around it. It...
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