The Golden Ritual
The golden lozenge lay in the palm of Elias Thorne’s hand, a small, hard disc of amber that caught the pale, blue-tinged light of the kitchen bulb. It was cold to the touch, colder than the air in the room, and as he turned it over, the faint, metallic scent of myrrh and burnt sugar rose from its surface. Outside, the rain hammered against the glass of the narrow shop window, a relentless,...
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