The Golden Cellar
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a relentless, gray curtain that smudged the edges of the world until the distinction between the cobblestones and the puddles dissolving into a single, slick, reflective surface, and Sergeant Elias Thorne walked through it with the heavy, deliberate pace of a man who had long since ceased to count the steps he took, his boots making a rhythmic, wet...
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