The Golden Crossing

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2026-08-18 19:10:33 -

The hand was wet. Not with sweat. Not with blood. With water. Deep, cold, river water. It dripped from the fingers of Elias Thorne onto the polished oak floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound was loud. Louder than the ticking of the mantel clock. Louder than the wind rattling the sash windows. Louder than his own breathing. Elias looked at his hand. It was not his hand. Or rather, it was. But it...

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