The Golden Downtown
The air in the Grand Hall tasted of copper and old dust, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat as Julian raised his glass. We were seated at the head of a long table of polished oak, the surface reflecting the chandeliers above, but the light did not feel like fire; it felt like something alive, pulsing gently in the stone walls that lined the room. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two...
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