The Golden Downtown
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the old quarter into a slick, black mirror that reflected the gaslight in trembling, broken shards. Inside the high-ceilinged room of the Whitmore estate, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and the metallic tang of fear that clung to Elias Thorne like a second skin. He stood before the tall, narrow window, his hands...
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