The Distant Temple
The crystal decanter was heavy, a thick-walled thing of cut glass that Elias Thorne held with a white-knuckled grip, the weight of it anchoring him to the center of the dining room where the air smelled of roasted duck and expensive, stale perfume. He poured the wine, watching the dark red liquid spiral into the glass, a thick, viscous stream that seemed to move with a sluggish, deliberate...
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