The Golden Myth
The iron taste of blood was mixed with the soot of the coal fire, a familiar, metallic tang that coated Elias Thorne’s tongue. He stood in the narrow alley behind the slaughterhouse, his breathing a ragged, wet rattle that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside his chest, beneath the ribs, in the place where the air had long since failed him. Across from him, the man with the heavy jaw and...
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