The Golden Song
The first crack appeared in the gilded ceiling of the Grand Hall at precisely 4:12 in the afternoon, a thin, jagged vein of gray stone that spidered outward like a bruise blooming under skin, interrupting the silence of the marble atrium with a sound so faint it was almost indistinguishable from the hum of the air conditioning, yet to Arthur Penhaligon, standing motionless in the center of the...
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