The Golden Mirror
The rain in the Highlands does not fall; it hangs, a grey curtain that blurs the line between the road and the heather, until the wipers of my rental car become a frantic, rhythmic struggle against the dark. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I have spent the last six weeks driving toward this estate, a place called Blackrock, to retrieve a stolen antique mirror and, more importantly,...
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