The Golden Cellar
The rain against the windowpane of the cellar office was not a sound but a vibration, a low-frequency hum that Elias Vane felt in his teeth before he heard it with his ears, a tremor that had been growing louder for three months as the foundation of the Blackwood Distillery began to soften under the weight of the Golden Spirit. He stood before the open trunk, his hands steady as he folded his...
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