The Golden Ritual
The frost was not merely cold; it was a verdict. It pressed against the single pane of glass in the window of the library, a lattice of ice crystals that had formed overnight with the precision of a surgical incision. Elias Thorne stood before it, his breath misting in the stagnant air, holding a magnifying lens to the frozen surface. He was a man of few words and many instruments, a detective...
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