The Golden Master
The rain fell on the slate roof of the depot like a thousand tiny hammers. It was a cold, metallic sound. Elias Thorne stood at the window. He watched the droplets race each other down the glass. They left trails. The trails merged. The world outside was a blur of grey and iron. Inside, the air smelled of damp wool and stale tobacco. Elias pulled his collar up. He felt a chill in his bones. It...
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