The Golden Master
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended curtain of grey water that blurred the edges of the world into a single, trembling wash of slate and moss, and it was within this suffocating dampness that Arthur Penhaligon found the object that would unravel the careful, brittle architecture of his life. He had been walking the perimeter of the municipal archives, a task that...
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