The Faded Quadrant
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the streets of the old district into slick, black mirrors, and it was in this suffocating, watery silence that Arthur Vane stood before the massive, double-leafed oak door of his late father’s estate, holding a brass key that felt dangerously light in his palm, as if the weight of the inheritance had already...
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