The Golden Oath
The letter sat on the mahogany desk, its edges sharp against the grain. Elias Thorne stared at the signature at the bottom, Vance’s scrawl looping like a noose. He did not open it. He knew what it said. He knew the cost of silence. Outside the window, the marble rotunda of the Department of Justice hummed with the low frequency of air conditioning and footsteps. It was a sound that had become...
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