The Golden Myth
"You’re late, Elias." The voice came from the shadows of the booth, low and rough as gravel under a boot. Elias did not answer. He simply adjusted the collar of his uniform, the fabric stiff and white against the dim, amber light of the room. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of stale tobacco and something older, something that clung to the walls like dust. It was a closed space, a...
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