The Golden Crossing
The seal was not merely a stamp. It was a weight. Elias held it in his palm, the brass cold and slick with the condensation of the room. It was heavy, forged in the old style, engraved with the crest of the Meridian Bank. To the untrained eye, it was a tool of commerce. To Elias, it was a cage. He had crafted the seal himself, ten years ago, before the Bank swallowed his small workshop and...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima