The Golden Echoes
The stone of the Valerian Court did not merely stand; it breathed, a slow, tidal respiration that rattled in the teeth of every soul who dared to cross its threshold, and for Elias Thorne, whose knees had begun to click in rhythm with the ancient masonry, the sound was no longer background noise but a physical weight pressing against his sternum. He was forty years old, a man carved from the...
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