The Golden Crossing
The audit required one hundred and forty-two pages, and Elias Thorne had the patience of a man who had forgotten how to die. He sat at the heavy oak desk in the center of the vault, the leather of his gloves stiffening against the cold, counting the discrepancies in the ledger with a pencil that had no eraser. The Old Mint was a place of stone and silence, a medieval structure that seemed to...
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