The Golden Downtown
The ink on the border report was still wet, a slick, black smear that Elias Thorne could not quite match to the pen in his hand, as if the document had been written by a man who had forgotten how to hold a tool, or perhaps by a man who no longer existed in the way that Elias did, and he stood before the golden gate of Aurelia with his fingers trembling so violently that the parchment shivered...
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