The Golden Quest
Act I Could a man sign his own obituary with a steady hand? Antonio Nogales looked at the ledger, then at his fingers. The ink on the page was moving. It did not drip down; it climbed the paper, defying gravity, tracing the edges of the columns like a dark vine seeking light. He blinked, rubbing the grit from his eyes. The chill rose from the cellar floor, a physical weight that pressed against...
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