The Golden Circuit
The envelope was thick, cream-colored, and smelled faintly of dust and old ink. Margaret held it in her left hand. Her right hand rested on the mahogany desk, fingers curled tight against the wood grain. She did not look up. "You are certain?" The voice belonged to Elias. He stood by the window, where the afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the floor. He...
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