The Golden Cellar
The cellar did not smell of damp earth or rotting wood, as a cellar in the modern world ought to, but of ozone and the heavy, sweet decay of lilies left too long in a vase, a scent that clung to the back of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s throat like a physical weight, a metallic tang that tasted of copper pennies and old blood, and he stood there in the absolute silence of the underground room, his...
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