The Golden Greenhouse
The clock on the mantel ticked with the heavy, wet thud of a heartbeat, and Elias Thorne counted the seconds between each strike, his fingers tracing the grain of the oak table until the wood felt warm and alive beneath his touch. He had been waiting for forty minutes, and in that time the air in the town hall had grown thick with the smell of roasted chestnuts and the sweat of forty men who...
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