The Golden Mirror
The letter lay on the mahogany table, the ink still wet, a stark white rectangle against the dark wood that smelled of beeswax and old dust. Elias Thorne read it twice, the weight of the paper negligible, yet the words felt like lead weights in his chest. "Payment suspended pending review of services," it said, a bureaucratic cruelty that stripped him of the only thing holding his brother’s...
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