The Golden Quest
The rain hit the glass. It did not tap. It struck. I stood at the window. I held the ledger. My hands shook. Not from cold. The office was warm. Too warm. The air tasted of dust and old paper. Behind me, Mr. Thorne sat in his chair. The leather creaked. He did not look at me. He looked at the fire. The fire was dying. "You have the map," he said. His voice was soft. Soft as ash. "Yes." "Then we...
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