THIRD PERSON POVThe rain fell on London in a relentless, grey sheet. It was the kind of weather that made the city feel like a sprawling, waterlogged grave. Elias Thorne hunched his shoulders against the chill, his worn leather satchel held tight to his chest. He was late. The exclusive auction at "Obscura," a gallery known for its collection of the macabre and the arcane, was due to start in minutes, and the item he was sent to acquire was the final lot.He pushed through the heavy, black-lacquered door, the sound of the downpour replaced by the hushed, reverent murmur of the wealthy and the curious. The air was thick with the scent of old money, beeswax polish, and something else… something metallic and sharp, like ozone after a lightning strike.He found a seat at the back, his damp coat clinging unpleasantly to his skin. He was out of place here, a scholar amidst predators. His employer, a reclusive collector of esoteric artifacts, had entrusted him with a single, simple task: wi
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