The Golden Visit
The cough started in the hollow of Elias Thorne’s chest, a dry, rattling crack that felt less like an illness and more like the sound of dry leaves skittering over pavement, and it was this sound, not the wind, that drove him to the edge of the Old Quarry on the night the frost finally took hold. He was forty years old, a former soldier whose lungs had been traded for a pension and a quiet life...
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