The Golden Mirror
The first thing one notices about Elias Vane is the specific, clinical detachment with which he observes the decay of things. He sat in the back of a rented sedan, the engine idling with a rhythmic, mechanical thrum that vibrated through the soles of his shoes. Outside, the rain lashed against the glass, blurring the neon signs of the city into smeared watercolors of red and blue. Elias did not...
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