The Golden Downtown
The rusted gate of the Golden Downtown groaned under Elias Thorne’s weight, a sound like a man clearing his throat before a confession that had been pending for twenty years. He stood there, his hand resting on the cold, pitted metal, feeling the vibration of the spatial distortion that permeated the air, a low-frequency hum that seemed to resonate not in his ears but in the marrow of his...
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