The Golden Quest
The rain hit the window of the conference room with a rhythmic, impatient slap. It was a Tuesday. I remember the day because the coffee in my mug had gone cold, the surface forming a thin, oily skin that I stirred with my pen. I watched the swirls form and break, a tiny, perfect chaos. "You're staring at the screen, Miller," said Elias. His voice was soft, a low hum that vibrated in the dry air...
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