The Golden Visit
The dream was always the same: a sea of wheat, high and golden, bending under a wind that did not blow. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of dust in his mouth, the light of the gray morning pressing against the blinds. On his desk, where he had left nothing but a cold cup of coffee and a stack of unpaid bills, lay a single stalk of grain. It was perfect, unbroken, its head heavy with amber...
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