The Golden Visit
The dream began not with a whisper but with the heavy, rhythmic thud of a mortar shell impacting the cobblestones of King’s Cross, a sound so visceral and immediate that Elias Thorne woke with the taste of copper and wet dust coating his tongue, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, though he lay in the narrow, airless confines of his attic room in London, the year being one...
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