The Distant Clue
The air in the vault was not merely stale; it was ancient, a suspended breath held by the stone walls for centuries, thick with the scent of damp earth and the metallic tang of forgotten iron. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the chamber, his boots sinking slightly into the fine, grey dust that covered the floor like a shroud. He was a man carved from the same austerity as the room, his face...
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