The Golden Visit
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the edges of the Thorne estate until the world seemed to dissolve into a single, wet plane. You stand in the courtyard, the soles of your boots sinking into the mud, the brass key in your hand cold and heavy, a dead weight against the pulse in your wrist. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a...
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