The Golden Downtown
The hall was warm enough to sweat, a heavy, humid heat that clung to the wool of Elias Thorne’s uniform and made the starch in his collar feel like a vice against his neck. He stood near the head table, counting the silverware in the centerpieces before him: four spoons, four forks, four knives, arranged with a precision that was his only comfort in the chaos of the city’s celebration. The air...
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