The Golden Cellar
The basement door was heavy, a slab of iron reinforced with cross-braced steel that groaned under the weight of its own rust, and when Silas Vane pressed his shoulder against it, the air that exhaled from the gap was not cold but thick, humid, and tasting faintly of ozone and old paper. He had worked in the sub-level archives of the Department of Anomalous Containment for twelve years, a tenure...
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