The Golden Mirror
Elias Thorne pressed his thumb against the grain of the oak beam, feeling the wood splinter under the pressure. It was not a clean break. It was a tear, a jagged wound in the timber that smelled of wet rot and old copper. He pulled his hand back, the skin of his pad already raw, and stared at the master bedroom wall where the crack had widened overnight. It ran vertically, jagged and dark,...
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