The Golden Master
The coffee in the mug was cold, a bitter, black pool that reflected the fluorescent hum of the office, but Elias didn’t drink it. He held it with both hands, feeling the residual warmth seep into his palms, a small, grounding anchor in a room that felt increasingly like a vacuum. Across the desk, Julian Thorne leaned back in his leather chair, the fabric creaking under his weight. Julian was...
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