The Golden Ritual
The ink on the letter had barely dried when Silas Vane felt the weight of it settle into his chest, a cold stone in the hollow of his ribs. He sat alone in the sparse apartment on the edge of the city, the rain tapping a erratic rhythm against the glass, a sound that seemed to mimic the beating of his own heart. He was a man of few words, a soldier who had traded the mud of foreign wars for the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 16 Views 0 Reviews