The Golden Crossing
"Sign here, Elias. And here. Don’t smudge the ink, it’s expensive." Mr. Vane’s voice was dry as the dust that coated the linoleum of the foreman’s office, a beige, curling skin that flaked under every footstep. Elias Thorne stared at the parchment, the paper stiff and yellowed with age, smelling of sulfur and old pennies. His wrist ached, a dull, throbbing pain that had nothing to do with the...
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