The Golden Visit
The dream came to Elias Thorne not as a vision of light, but as a searing heat that bloomed in the center of his right palm, a phantom brand of gold that burned with the intensity of a coal dropped into wet snow. He woke in the narrow bed above the Oakhaven Post Office, the gaslight from the street below flickering against the windowpane, and knew with a certainty that transcended logic that...
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