The Golden Echoes
The house shook before the sirens wailed. It was not a quake, not the shifting of tectonic plates beneath the earth. It was the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots on the street, followed by the shatter of glass. Dr. Elias Thorne did not look up from his desk. He held a glass of sherry, the amber liquid trembling in a slow, hypnotic circle. He was a man of few words and fewer movements. He believed...
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