The Golden Myth
Thorne, get your arse in here, before I have to drag you by the ear like a spaniel. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood in the corridor, his boots slick with the wet grit of the Scottish moor, listening to the heavy, rhythmic thud of Major Halloway’s cane against the stone floor. The dream had come again, that recurring, golden gate, its bars vibrating with a hum that felt less like sound and more like...
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