The Golden Quest
The map was not a map. It was a wound in the paper, a jagged tear where the ink had bled into the fiber, creating a topography of dark, wet veins that led nowhere in the world but everywhere in the mind. Elias Vance held it in his gloved hands, the leather stiff against the cold air of the van, and watched the tree line of the Appalachian foothills blur past the window. He was a man of ledgers...
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