The Golden Myth
The fire did not start in the chimney; it started in the ledger. You remember the smell of the smoke, a sharp, acrid bite that cut through the stale air of the attic, but by the time you pulled the book from the charred remains, the damage was already done. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a man whose reputation as a historian is a hollow shell, and you are standing in the ruins of...
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