The Golden Master
The pen tip scraped against the heavy, cream-colored paper, a sound like a fingernail dragging down a chalkboard, and Elias Thorne watched the ink pool, dark and wet, refusing to dry. It was the third day of the closure, the final forty-eight hours before the Halloway Textile Mill ceased to exist in the eyes of the law, and the air in the archive room was thick with the scent of decaying paper...
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