The Golden Myth
The rain hammered against the reinforced glass of the holding cell, a rhythmic, metallic drumming that seemed to vibrate in the teeth of Sergeant Elias Thorne. He sat on the cold steel bench, his hands cuffed behind his back, watching the water trace jagged paths down the transparent barrier. Across the small, windowless room, standing in the center of the linoleum floor, was Director Marcus...
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