The Golden Mirror
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the ink still wet and smelling of sulfur, a scent that clung to Arthur Vane’s fingertips like a ghost. He was thirty years old, an inspector for the municipal board, a man who prided himself on the orderly arrangement of facts, but the paper trembled in his hand as he read the cramped handwriting of his brother, Elias. Elias claimed to have found the Golden...
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