The Golden Cellar
The ink on the ledger was still wet, a dark, glossy scar against the cream-colored paper, and I sat in the silence of the archive room, listening to the hum of the ventilation system. It was a sound that had become my heartbeat over the last six months, a low, mechanical thrum that vibrated in my teeth. I was a scholar of municipal history, a title that sounded more respectable than the reality...
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