The Golden Master
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, grey curtain that turned the world outside the windows of the Whitmore estate into a blur of wet slate and dying leaves. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and old paper, a smell that Elias knew well, for he had been the caretaker of this house for forty years, tending to its every crack and creak with the silent devotion of...
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