The Golden Ritual
Dreams do not ask permission. They arrive with the force of a sledgehammer, cracking the glass of sleep to let in a cold, sharp wind. Detective Elias Thorne woke with his mouth dry, tasting copper and ash. His left hand, the one that had held his service weapon for twenty years, was trembling in the dark. It was a small, rhythmic shiver, like a leaf caught in a gutter. He sat up in the narrow...
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