The Golden Ritual
The cursor blinked, a metronome for a silence that had no right to be so loud. Elias Thorne’s hand hovered over the keyboard, the plastic cold against his skin, as if the air conditioning in the server room had dropped by ten degrees in the span of a single breath. He was forty-five, an actuary with a pension that depended on the solvency of a firm that was already a corpse, walking on...
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