The Golden Ritual
The cruiser’s tires hummed a low, mechanical note against the wet asphalt of Route 9, a sound that Elias Thorne had memorized over twenty years of service. He checked the rearview mirror, his reflection a pale, gaunt smear in the glass, and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. The federal facility rose ahead, a block of gray concrete that seemed to absorb the...
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