The Golden Quest
The rain had been falling on the glass roof of the Meridian Institute for three days, a relentless, percussive drumming that seemed to synchronize with the slow, rhythmic thrum of the ventilation systems, a sound that Marcus Thorne had long ago stopped hearing as noise and began to interpret as a kind of low, subterranean heartbeat, a pulse that matched the heavy, leaden weight in his own...
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