The Golden Song
The rain in Edinburgh did not fall so much as it hung, a persistent, grey veil that soaked into the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat and settled deep in the marrow of his bones. He had been walking for three hours, the cobblestones slick with a sheen that reflected the dying light of the afternoon, and the weight of the leather satchel against his hip felt less like a burden and more like an anchor,...
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