The Golden Visit
The wiper blade slapped against the windshield in a rhythmic, wet thud that matched the stuttering of Elias’s engine as he approached the iron gates of Blackwood Hall, the gold leaf on the border of the estate road peeling away in long, curled strips under the tires. He was thirty-two, a junior archivist with a permanent stain of ink on his left thumb and a heart that hammered against his ribs...
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