The Golden Downtown
The frost had not yet melted from the eaves of the old mill, a jagged line of ice that caught the pale winter sun and threw it back in sharp, staccato bursts across the gray slate of the town square. Elias Thorne stood at the center of this cold geometry, his breath a white plume that dissipated instantly into the dry air, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of rigid, professional...
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