The Golden Quest
The boiler room hummed. A low, constant thrum. It was the sound of the city’s heart. Or its lungs. It was iron and steam. It was heat and pressure. And it was closing in. Silas Vance stood before the main valve. His hands were steady. His mind was not. He was a man made of angles. Sharp shoulders. A jaw like a cliff face. He wore the uniform of the Port Authority. Navy blue. White shirt. The...
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