The Golden Oath
The bell above the door of the Union Local Hall rang, a sharp, metallic shriek that cut through the humid air of the basement. Arthur Vane stood by the heavy oak table, his hands resting on the wood, fingers drumming a silent, agitated rhythm. He wore the same charcoal suit he had worn for the last three years, the fabric worn thin at the elbows, the lapels fraying into threads that hung like...
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