The Faded Paradox
The basement of the Ashworth estate did not smell of rot, as one might expect of a cellar sealed for decades, but rather of old paper and the metallic tang of copper coins, a scent that clung to the back of Elias’s throat like a persistent cough. At twelve years old, Elias was a creature of precise calculation and quiet, obsessive devotion, his eyes wide and dark behind spectacles that were...
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