The Golden Downtown
The blade was cold, slick with the damp that had seeped into the concrete floor of the mill basement, and Elias Thorne held it with a grip that had long since lost its professional precision, his knuckles white against the steel as he stared at the fraying gold cufflink on his left wrist, the metal dull now but still pulsing with a faint, rhythmic heat that matched the erratic thumping of his...
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