The Golden Quest
The rain against the leaded windows of St. Jude’s Institute for the Curing of Heterodox Thoughts was not weather; it was a verdict. It hammered a relentless, rhythmic code against the glass, a static hiss that filled the silence of the infirmary where Elias Thorne sat on the edge of a cot, his hands folded in his lap. They were steady hands. That was the trouble with Elias. He had been a master...
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