The Golden Crossing
The air in the Undercroft tasted of iron and old rain, a metallic tang that coated the back of Silas Vane’s tongue and settled deep in his lungs, a sensation so familiar it had become indistinguishable from his own breath, a constant, low hum of decay that vibrated in the hollows of his chest where his heart used to beat with the regular, indifferent rhythm of a man who had never questioned the...
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