The Golden Downtown
The basement of the Municipal Archives smelled of wet wool and the slow, sweet decay of paper, a scent that Elias Thorne had inhaled so deeply over the past decade that it had become indistinguishable from the air of his own lungs. He sat at the long oak table, the fluorescent lights buzzing above him with a frequency that seemed to drill into his molars, and he stared at the ledger entry that...
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