The Golden Mirror
The rain in Blackwood did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain that blurred the distinction between the wet asphalt and the iron gates of the asylum, where Elias Thorne stood with a briefcase that felt heavier than its paper contents. He was forty-two, a man whose career as an archivist had ended in a quiet scandal of misplaced ledgers and a sudden, unexplained severance, and he had come...
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