The Golden Visit
The rain lashed the iron railings of the High Court in London. It was a cold, industrial drizzle, the kind that seeped into the bones of men who had walked too far from home. Elias Thorne stood in the queue. He wore a suit of charcoal wool, pressed sharp, yet it hung loosely on his frame. He looked like a ghost haunting his own life. His eyes were fixed on the wet pavement, watching a puddle...
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