The Golden Downtown
The fluorescent lights in the sub-basement of the Department of Anomalous Personnel hummed at a frequency that David Thorne had long since stopped hearing, a tinnitus of the soul that had replaced the sound of his own thoughts. He sat at a steel desk, the surface cold against his forearms, and stared at the small, brass object resting in the center of the containment tray. It was a seal, or...
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