The Golden Visit
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled from the bruised purple belly of the sky, a thick, oily mist that clung to the cobblestones of Blackfriars and seeped into the marrow of every bone within the city’s decaying grid. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the intersection where the gas lamps sputtered and died, his hands wrapped around the brass cylinder that had been his life’s...
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