The Golden Cellar
The document on the workbench was a requisition form, its paper brittle and yellowed, stained with the dampness that had seeped through the stone floor for the last three decades; Elias Thorne held it with a hand that trembled so violently the ink seemed to swim, the letters blurring into a jagged line that mirrored the fracture running through the foundation stone beneath him. He was...
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