The Golden Visit
The rain lashed against the sash windows of the Victorian house, a rhythmic drumming that matched the frantic beating of Elias Thorne’s heart. He stood in the center of the drafty hallway, his fingers digging into the cold brass of the doorknob, the gold brooch in his palm sweating against his skin. He was fifty-two, a retired archivist with ink-stained habits and a hollow chest, and he was...
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