The Golden Oath
Thorne. The voice came from the shadows of the server aisle, low and dry as the recycled air. Elias didn’t turn. He kept his eyes on the brass key in his palm, feeling the heat pulse against his skin, a steady, rhythmic throb that had nothing to do with the room’s ambient chill. Director Halloway stepped into the cone of the overhead fluorescent light, his face a pale, unreadable mask. He...
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