The Golden Master
The rain had not stopped for three days. It hammered against the windowpane of the interrogation room, a relentless, gray drumbeat that matched the hollow thumping in Elias’s chest. He sat on the metal chair, his hands cuffed to the table. Across from him sat Commander Vane. Vane did not look at Elias. He looked at the file. He turned the page. The sound was sharp. A dry crack in the wet...
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