The Golden Song
The house breathed. That was the first thing Marcus noticed. Not the creaks of the floorboards, which were expected in a structure this old, but a rhythmic, wet inhalation. It came from the walls. It came from the floor. It pulsed against his palms as he ran his fingers over the plaster. He was a specialist in structural anomalies, a man who made his living listening to buildings that should...
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