The Golden Ritual
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the industrial district into a slick, reflective mirror that distorted the soot-stained facades of the textile mills into warped, weeping faces, and in the damp, cold silence of his small, rented room at the end of a crumbling row house, Sergeant Elias Thorne sat on the edge of his unmade bed, his hands resting heavily on his...
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