The Golden Cellar
The clock in the archive room did not tick. It hummed, a low, subsonic vibration that seemed to rise from the stone floor itself, a sound that settled in the teeth and the marrow of the bone. I sat at the long oak table, my hands folded over the leather-bound ledger, waiting for the light to change. Outside, the city was a blur of rain and neon, but in here, the air was still, thick with the...
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