The Golden Ritual
The rain had not stopped for three days. It tapped a relentless, monotonous rhythm against the window of the observation room, a sound that seemed to seep into the marrow of the men who stood there. Elias Thorne stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid, the way he had been taught to stand by a father who believed that stillness was the highest form of control. He was a...
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