The Golden Downtown
The brass key in your hand is cold, biting into the meat of your palm as you turn it in the lock of the cellar door, a small, metallic click that echoes in the damp silence of the Guild Hall basement. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a junior clerk who has spent the last nineteen years copying dates and names for a pension that feels less like a reward and more like a distant shore...
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