The Golden Cellar
The air in the basement of the Whitmore Municipal Archive did not smell of dust, as Arthur Vane had expected, but of ozone and old copper, a scent that clung to the back of his throat like a bad penny. He stood before the heavy iron door, his hand trembling slightly on the cold handle, while Director Halloway stood ten paces back, arms crossed, his face a mask of bureaucratic indifference....
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