The Golden Quest
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, persistent mist that settled into the pores of the skin and the fibers of the wool coats, carrying with it the scent of wet limestone and old, damp wood. It was the kind of weather that made the house feel less like a structure and more like a living, breathing thing, a beast of burden crouched low against the wind. Elias Thorne stood...
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