The Golden Song
Thorne. The summons came not from a bell, but from the heavy, rhythmic thud of a boot against the stone floor of the corridor, a sound that vibrated up through the soles of his own shoes and into the marrow of his shins. Elias Thorne did not look up from the ledger. His fingers, stained with the iron-gall ink that had seeped into the whorls of his prints over thirty years of service, continued...
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