The Golden Circuit
The rain had been falling on the city for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick, dark mirrors. It was a cold, damp October, the kind of weather that settled deep into the bones and made the air taste of rust and decay. In the upper room of a narrow townhouse on Elm Street, Elias Thorne sat by the...
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