The Golden Cellar
The cellar door groaned against its iron hinges, a sound like a bone cracking under pressure, and Elias Thorne stood in the damp corridor, his hand trembling on the cold wood as he tried to convince himself that the layout of the shelves had not shifted overnight. He had arranged the vintage wines in strict chronological order, the oldest vintages resting on the lowest, coolest stone, a system...
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