The Golden Downtown
The silence in the house was not empty; it was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against the eardrums and settled in the marrow, a thick, suffocating fog that had no beginning and no end. Elias Thorne sat at the head of the mahogany table, his hands resting flat on the wood, palms down, fingers splayed wide as if trying to anchor himself to the earth beneath the floorboards. The air tasted...
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