The Golden Mirror
The rain against the windowpane of the detective’s office did not sound like water; it sounded like static, a low, white-noise hum that seemed to vibrate in the teeth. Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed leather chair, the kind that creaked under the weight of history, and watched the fog roll through the narrow street outside. He was a man who had spent thirty years chasing ghosts, but this...
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